


Bound and Blinded: The Ballad of Hannah Abbott

by LadyofBoneandIvory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (maybe more like opportunistic Death Eaters), Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Blaise Zabini, BAMF Daphne Greengrass, Based on a fanfic titled Manacled by senlinyu, Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Good Death Eaters, Harry Potter Dies, Imprisonment, Minor Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Protective Blaise Zabini, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofBoneandIvory/pseuds/LadyofBoneandIvory
Summary: Harry Potter is dead and Voldemort reigns supreme. Hannah Abbott, now one-eyed and scarred from battle, is forcibly enlisted into a surrogacy program aiming to repopulate the wizarding world of Great Britain. After twice failing to produce an heir, she is reassigned to the mysterious top banking executive of this frightening new reality.A story that takes place within the alternate universe of Manacled by senlinyu.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Blaise Zabini, Hannah Abbott/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 136
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Manacled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454174) by [senlinyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/senlinyu/pseuds/senlinyu). 



> Hello! 
> 
> Welcome to my story. I must emphasize that this is a fan fiction of the fantastic popular Dramione (Draco/Hermione) dark epic called Manacled by senlinyu. I highly recommend reading it before going into this story if you’re so inclined. Though this story takes place within the AU and more or less alongside the story that senlinyu has created, it is not canon to her story in any capacity. I wrote this because I am a fan, because I wanted to explore more of the haunting world that she created, and because I wanted to try my hand at a rarepair. In other words, if Manacled is The Lion King, this story is functionally The Lion King 1½ except with a lot less intersection with the former's plot.
> 
> Like Manacled, this story will be considerably dark with overarching themes of non-consent, trauma, and violence of every variety. Reader’s discretion is advised. I aim to update weekly on Sundays or Mondays. 
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

**Surrogate Reassigned to a New Household**

_One-eyed surrogate Hannah Abbott has been reassigned to an anonymous wizarding family._

_Hannah Abbott, a former resistance fighter turned surrogate within the Dark Lord’s Repopulation Program under esteemed Healer Lydia Stroud, has been reassigned to another family after two consecutive miscarriages. Our anonymous source states that these two miscarriages, which had they been brought to term would have been the sons of esteemed Death Eater and peace officer Marcus Flint, occurred under suspicious circumstances. Mr. Flint and his wife, Mrs. Pansy P. Flint, have declined to comment. The identity of Miss Abbott’s new family is not yet known._

Two small black and white images accompanied the short article. One was from six weeks ago, of Hannah dressed in her surrogate regalia being accompanied by a proud and for once groomed Marcus Flint in his black Death Eater robes. Despite the monochrome, her face was visibly blotchy from the cold. The thin cotton dress, red fabric-soled slippers, and flimsy crimson cloak provided little protection against the falling snow. Marcus let her wear a simple black eyepatch that day, much to her relief and delight. She remembered trying to smile and look happy for the cameras there, enthusiastically pressing her hands against the small swell of her stomach.

_Twelve weeks. She’d made it to 12 weeks._

They were at the debut of a new opera— _Prepositus_. It told the story of the High Reeve’s ascension into his current position as Voldemort’s right hand, somewhat cleverly presented in a way that never revealed his identity to the audience or gave away any incriminating details. The show was ambitious, but very mediocre, she remembered. A pitchy soprano lead and a terribly sluggish second act stifled any enjoyment that the night could have brought her.

The other image was taken three weeks ago by a member of the paparazzi who had been probably hiding in the red rose bushes across from Marcus’ cottage home. Eyepatch-less Hannah was still dressed in her uniform, but the swell of her stomach was obviously gone and she was carrying bags on each arm like a Muggle. She broke into a dignified sprint to keep up with a heavily pregnant Pansy who trudged ahead in her fur-lined grey robes up the brick steps to the front door before the image looped again.

_Four days after she lost it. The baby boy that Marcus and the rest of the wizarding world had lusted after so much._

And that was it. After blinking away the sting in her surviving right eye that the photographs triggered, Hannah strained her eye again to see if any other notice of herself or any other surrogate made it onto the back page of the _Daily Prophet_. Especially news of Hermione Granger. 

_Nothing._ The rest of the back page was covered in dribble about such important matters as Astoria Malfoy and the antique Delfina Crimp dress robes she wore to a recent philanthropy ball for the restoration of St. Mungo’s gardens.

“Enjoying the view, eh, Abbott?” Marcus asked as he shook out the newspaper and turned the page, not bothering to look at her. Hannah’s eye shot down to the copper manacles on her wrists in response to his voice. Just this morning, the words “Property of Marcus Flint” in elegant script would have been engraved across the bands. An hour ago, Hannah watched as the name glowed red and disappeared letter by letter. Though the erasure caused an uncomfortable warming sensation emanating up both forearms, it wasn’t a _painful_ experience much to Hannah’s quiet relief. Now, the manacles displayed “Property of” with a blank space following for the next man she was expected to serve.

“Not every day that I let you read the paper,” her companion remarked. When Marcus got silence as a response, he let out a dry chuckle and peeked over top of the newspaper, regarding Hannah with a mocking expression. He was a big man now, with the mouth and ears of a troll, deep-set dark brown eyes, and the body of a dominant Graphorn bull on two legs. His sheer bulk was a far cry from the broad and lean Slytherin Quidditch captain she remembered lurking along the hallways of Hogwarts.

Hannah refused to look at the man. Instead, she shook her head and twisted her left manacle. The skin underneath had recently become unbearably itchy in the past week, but there was no gap between the metal and her skin. Even if she was able to touch a quill or even snap a twig off of a tree, she couldn’t use it to scratch her wrist and relieve the sensation. She made a mental note to mention this during her next physical.

The carriage gave a violent joint and increased in speed. Hannah reached out and braced herself against the newfound roughness with one palm to the carriage ceiling and the other palm to the wall covered in silvery faience. The green velvet button tufted seat underneath her did little to cushion her tailbone as she accidentally hit it in a way that made her want to double over. Marcus cursed, drew his wand, and muttered a charm that somehow prevented himself from being jostled, for his body stilled where he sat across from her. The continued bumpiness of the carriage made Hannah want to vomit up her meager dinner of brown bread and unsalted butter that she forced down upon the insistence of Pansy before she left. She wished that the carriage had transparent windows so she could have a sense of where they were heading and try to relieve her nausea.

“A bloody broom would be a smoother method of transportation than a bloody carriage pulled by bloody Thestrals,” Marcus grumbled, half to Hannah and half to himself.

Hannah’s reassignment had happened in less than 24 hours. At lunch yesterday, a barred owl wearing the red ribbon signifying official Ministry correspondence showed up in their backyard. Pansy was the first to read the letter.

_“The ministry wants you back, Abbott. Why they would want such a pathetic and useless surrogate whore, I have no clue.”_

The first month of insults and verbal abuse hurt, but pain soon faded away. Gone was the easily flustered girl that everyone knew at Hogwarts. Hannah prided herself on her newfound ability to adapt to new circumstances. To shield her emotions and focus on her survival. To let everything go over her head. To detach. Not exactly the most Hufflepuff way of thinking, but it was a skill born out of necessity from years of pain and war.

Despite Stroud’s public insistence that the Repopulation program would make future generations “simply magical,” the claim didn’t remove the blood prejudices and the fixation on blood purity held by most of the families who received the surrogates. Even if they were “blood traitors” like Cho Chang, Romilda Vane, or Katie Bell, most still saw pure-blood as pure-blood. They were the most desired surrogates based on what Hannah could glean from eavesdropping during the parties in which she followed Marcus or Pansy around like a dog. The chatter about the surrogates didn’t often include her. The concept of the proud Abbott family, a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, being reduced to a mere surrogate with a blood traitor father and a half-blood mother inspired a particular kind of uncomfortable revulsion that they avoided discussing in great detail. The missing eye certainly didn’t help. That was all for the best, she supposed.

With a quiet _Incendio,_ Pansy flippantly burned the letter and went back to her flower arrangements as Hannah scrubbed the parlor floor by hand. The spicy perfume from turquoise umbrella flowers Pansy had delivered weekly gave Hannah a horrible headache, but she kept silent.

_You will be quiet._

_You will not offend the wives._

Thirty minutes later, another barred owl brought the Howler. The red letter spoke in the distinctive voice of Lydia Stroud at high volume.

_“Per the Dark Lord’s request, Mr. Marcus Flint shall transport surrogate Hannah Abbott to her next assignment. Tomorrow evening, the carriage will arrive at your residence at 19:00. Do **not** be late._

The Howler followed a now pale-faced Pansy with as much menace as a letter possibly could for the rest of the afternoon until Marcus got home from work. Once in his presence, it repeated its message before bursting into flames and burning a cursed and unrepairable hole through the Parkinson heirloom Persian carpet in the parlor.

Marcus nor Pansy dared defy orders. Thus, Hannah and her two changes of clothes were loaded into the carriage the next evening. And here she sat, being bumped and jostled in a carriage without a driver and drawn by horses she could now see.

The deaths of her mother and grandparents in her sixth year had only been the beginning. She’d watched so many people die on the battlefield, but Colin Creevey might have been the true trigger for the Thestrals. Her first intimate experience watching the life sap out of a wrecked body. Hannah was there that afternoon in the hospital ward, accompanying Ernie Macmillan who needed to be treated for deep burns on his hands and forearms thanks to a misfired charm. Hermione, now gaunt and with her mane forever tied up into a crown braid, worked diligently over Colin who screamed in agony while Madame Pompfrey was nowhere to be found. By all accounts, Colin was hit with a flaying curse cast by one of the hundreds of Death Eaters they fought on a daily basis. Harry was at Hermione’s side, rushing about to get anything that she barked orders for. Hannah could do little more than watch and use her rudimentary healing knowledge to keep Ernie’s burns clean and cooled while their healer tried her damned hardest to save Colin’s life. With the amount of time Hermione spent with Harry on the roof after Colin’s death, Hannah was surprised that Hermione didn’t pick up a smoking or Firewhiskey habit. After seeing Colin’s skeleton like that, Hannah’s nail biting episodes certainly got worse.

How she wished she couldn’t see them—their gaunt, skeletal faces and bat-like leathery wings. She would have preferred a Portkey any day over _this._ Even an international one.

“Abbott.”

Hannah tried to avoid his gaze.

“Abbott, look at me.”

No matter how she tried to rationalize it, she couldn't resist the instructions drilled into her skull. Hannah gritted her teeth, looked up, and made firm eye contact with the man who had terrorized her daily for the past four months. Her heart froze in her throat.

“I—” Marcus hesitated, trying to search for the right words hidden somewhere in his thick skull. As he thought, he delicately folded his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ precisely in half and smoothed down the creases. “I hope that your new family treats you decently. We’re all just trying to survive here, ya’ know?”

 _Easy for you to say._ The tears pricked in her eye again and she threw up her well-practiced mask of compliance and tranquility in response to his words. It wouldn’t protect her from a Legilimens or a drop of Veritaserum, but it spared her from most of the wizarding world’s vitriol.

“Maybe the wife will be less of a bitch than Pansy. Especially a pregnant Pansy,” Marcus smirked. He was well aware of his wife’s reputation among the other wives and how the tabloids wrote about her, but Hannah knew how gently he treated his wife in private. Despite everything she did.

Hannah gave him a nod. Maybe it was the haze of too many doses of aphrodisiac potions clouding her thinking, but Marcus could be _worse_ based on her experiences and the wives’ gossip. Last week, he bought Hannah a good quality dragon hide eyepatch to cover up the hole in her head from where Umbridge had pulled out her eye when she was in prison. She wished that he’d let her keep it. He’d also called for a good healer immediately after discovering the three lacerations he had caused during their first coupling. Plus, after the first two months, he switched from demanding daily intercourse to daily head, a compromise that Hannah found some relief in.

 _See? He’s not that bad_ , she told herself. 

“I hope your son will be a healthy baby,” Hannah finally said in response, the words feeling satisfyingly bland and safe on her tongue.

 _The pureblood baby that you’ve always wanted. I hope it will be a hideous Squib with your teeth and ears and her jawline and eyebrows._

Hannah was glad in that Marcus’ magical abilities were relegated to flying and casting the Tremefacio spell on his dick.

Marcus gave her a revolting smile. “I hope so too.”

They sat in silence for another hour in the rumbling carriage before it pulled to a slow stop and the doors to the carriage swung open by an invisible force. It was almost pitch black outside—a new moon. The howling wind blew into the carriage and whistled about Hannah’s bonnet. Gooseflesh developed on her arms.

“Out you go, Abbott. Get walking. Don’t ever let me see you alone in the streets,” Marcus snapped, any resemblance of humanity that he had just shown lost in his voice.

_You will be obedient._

With a reverential nod, Hannah stood, gathered her worn leather shoulder satchel of belongings, and stepped out of the lit carriage and into the dry winter night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Here comes the second chapter of my fan fiction of a fan fiction. :)
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

Gravel—rather, smooth white river pebbles—crunched beneath Hannah’s slippers as she walked down the path that she’d been let out on. Sparse starlight palely illuminated the stones, just enough for her to be able to follow the road down the decidedly steep hill. Hannah paused only once after the carriage doors snapped shut behind her to listen the Thestrals huffing and stomping. Their disgruntlement was followed by the sound of the carriage wheels starting and seemingly retreating to the direction from whence it came. It was strange that winged Thestrals were being made to pull a carriage across land. Muggle breed horses would have been easier to use by all accounts.

As the wind whipped around her in her paper thin dress and cloak, Hannah blew on her hands and viciously rubbed them together. Oh, how she hated the cold. She missed thermal knickers—well, knickers in general, really—and warm woolen coats and thick robes with hefty warming charms woven through.

She also missed having her wand to cast warming charms on herself. How she missed it in a general manner too. Hazel, unicorn hair, eight and a half inches. Thick, blunt, and hefty-feeling in one’s hand. It was unlike most hazel wands that were long, tapered, and thin, resembling a hazel switch more than anything else. There was a knot in the wood where her thumb rested. Hannah quickly learned in First Year that if she pressed against the knot with the pad of her thumb and dug her thumbnail into it, she could better steady her wand in Transfiguration classes. She’d been general rubbish at Transfiguration until her father had to pull her out of classes during her Sixth Year, but at least the trick helped her pass until she no longer had to take it. Seeing a masked Death Eater break it into four pieces in front of her soon after her arrest hurt like little else she’d experienced until then.

On the other hand, Hannah never hated the dark. The _physical_ dark—not Dark magic or anything of that sort. It was another very un-Hufflepuff-like trait that she’d developed in the past couple of years, she was very much aware of that. But after her mum died, she found herself haunting the streets of her hometown of Ammanford at night, breaking in almost nightly to the 18th century chapel of Ebenezer much to her father’s chagrin. The masking of nighttime and anonymity gave her comfort. She wondered if the initial thrill she got out of nightly prowls was similar to what Harry Potter felt constantly under his invisibility cloak. The thrill soon turned into practice. This practice was what made her hugely successful at nighttime raids during the war.

_If only I stuck to nighttime raids._

She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders back, trying to usher an ounce of courage that most of her Gryffindor friends had droves of once upon a time. With a few wide strides, she got to the top of the hill. Still there was no house in sight.

_Did they deliver me to the wrong location?_

Hannah’s fingers found the strap of her satchel as she did a complete spin around, looking for the flash of a lit window or a looming building somewhat silhouetted by the starlight that she could now see with her eye adjusted to the dark.

_Nothing._

It was nothing but the road, low-lying grasses, patchy pines, and stars.

_Was I not made aware of a portkey?_

Hannah kept walking forward along the path, reassuring herself that _if_ a maintained manmade path existed in these words, human settlement wasn’t far behind. She focused on her breathing—three second inhales and four second exhales.

Then she heard the nearby howl, followed by noisy steps in the grass.

_Werewolf?_

Hannah was never good at warding off werewolves. She’d encountered Greyback just once on the battlefield, when his back was turned to her as he devoured a very young Muggle girl in an alleyway. In her panic, her hex bounced off the wall beside him and hit one of his companions. At the time, she was _much_ fitter than she was now and was able to _run_ away from that scene and Apparate before anything happened. Hermione called Hannah “a lucky bitch” when she made it back with only a couple scrapes and an advanced variation of the Jelly-Legs Jinx that had just enough of a delay for Hermione to counteract it without further damage. 

_You will not hurt anyone._

The instruction pounded against her skull as Hannah picked up her pace and broke into a steady sprint. The rustle of the grass grew nearer.

_Could be a Snatcher._

Hannah knew of only one surrogate that had tried to escape after they were deployed to their families: Marietta Edgecombe. The red-haired Ravenclaw apparently made some deal with a low-level Death Eater sympathizer that enabled her to escape past the tall gates that encircled Augustus Rookwood’s estate. She hid in the woods for almost a day before Snatchers found her. According to Pansy, Marietta was “removed” from the program for reeducation purposes, though rumors circulated among the other wives that Marietta met her end at the hands of the High Reeve. No matter what her fate may have been, Hannah still couldn’t muster up much sympathy for the traitor that exposed Dumbledore’s Army during in their fifth year at Hogwarts. Hannah did feel strongly for Cho Chang though, who seemed to become even quieter, paler, and more delicate after learning of the news.

“I am Hannah Abbott, Surrogate Number 45 of the Dark Lord’s Repopulation Program,” Hannah recited steadily and loudly into the night, trying to keep the rising fear in her voice at bay. Like this, she was completely unable to defend herself and completely vulnerable. She hated it. 

The low growl-like laughter of perhaps an older woman came from directly off the path on her right. Hannah took a few precious moments to look in that direction and saw faint pale eyes—the reflection of a canine’s tapetum lucidum—staring back at her. Her blood ran cold but she urged her body go faster.

As she was doing so, she slipped on the stones but caught herself before she fell. As she surged forward, she shrugged off her slippers and left them behind. The large holes in her stockings gave her enough traction so that running in this manner was much more comfortable and efficient, despite the intensified chill in the air aimed towards her feet.

“I have been reassigned to a new family this evening. If something happens to me, my new master, Healer Stroud, and the Dark Lord himself will be notified. Please stay away!” Hannah pleaded, the panic becoming evident in her voice.

The woman laughed again and Hannah listened as the rustling of the high grass grew louder. She was just as fast, if not faster, than Hannah, for she kept up effortlessly. Sweat dripped down Hannah’s back between her shoulder blades as she kept up her speed.

“Please!”

More laughter.

Hannah’s heartbeat was in her ears and her legs and lungs already strained with the effort. At this place in time, her body was trained for making babies, not for running.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

The charm crackled like blue lighting as it shot across the road and hit whoever was trailing Hannah, stopping her in her tracks. The rustling to her right ceased.

“Vhelade, stand down,” the caster on the left gravely demanded. Their voice was stilted and deep, evidently altered by some sort of magic Hannah couldn’t recognize. The caster stepped out from where they were hiding among the trees on the left side of the road and blocked Hannah’s path. Based on the black robes and silvery flash of their fully masked face, they were dressed in full Death Eater attire.

“ _Lumos.”_ The familiar blue ball of light erupted from the tip of their long and thin wand. They turned to study Hannah curiously with the classic deep-set inlaid eyeholes that obscured their eyes to observers. Hannah trained her eye on the slatted metal mouth. The mask looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. 

“I thought I told Stroud to drop you off at the cottage,” the Death Eater grumbled, mostly to themselves. They stepped closer with long, exaggerated strides.

Hannah gave a small awkward curtsey. Her heart pounded in her ears and the spurt of exercise caused her sweat to soak into her clothes. She involuntarily began shivering as it began to cool.

“Where’re your shoes?” the Death Eater demanded.

“Accidentally lost them on the way here,” Hannah lied, though she was fully aware of the usual punishment for misplacing her wardrobe.

The Death Eater made a sound obscured by the voice modifier—a grunt, maybe? With one more considering glance, the Death Eater appeared to make up their mind as to what to do next.

“Vhelade, I’ll make sure that Hestia comes to retrieve you soon,” they called out to the woman hidden in the bushes. With one fluid motion, they reached out, grabbed Hannah’s upper arm, and Apparated away.

After Hannah’s first miscarriage, Apparition became a miserable experience. The sensation of being essentially squeezed into a piece of uncooked angel hair spaghetti was vomit-inducing, much to Pansy’s disgust. When she and the Death Eater Apparated into an unfamiliar room, Hannah lurched forward and dry heaved.

The Death Eater loomed over her, twisting their wand between their gloved fingers, until she finished. While Hannah wiped tears away from her eye, the Death Eater began to speak.

“I will bring some dry clothing to you shortly.” With a pop, the masked Death Eater disappeared.

Once Hannah was sure that the Death Eater was gone, she slowly got to her feet. They’d Apparated into a cozy room that belonged in a small log cabin. The milled logs that the building was constructed out of were a lovely yellow-brown in color. The walls were lined with books—mostly Herbology textbooks, to her surprise. She let out a small smile at the sight of a well-loved first edition copy of _Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants_ by Selina Sapworthy. A merry little blue fire making happy little popping sounds blazed in the brick fireplace at the far end of the room. Hannah began to strip off her clothing. First her bonnet, followed by her dress. After looking around for somewhere to put these garments to dry, she settled on hanging them off of the footboard of a queen-sized bed covered in a well-loved charcoal and gold quilt that was situated adjacent to the fire. Before she peeled off the stockings, she got closer to the fire to hold her numb and reddened fingers over it. She startled a little when a tiny purple head popped out of what Hannah determined to be Bluebell flames and looked at her with beady black eyes. A Fire Dwelling Salamander called this fire home. 

“His name is Osiris.”

Hannah jumped at the words and turned around, covering herself to the best of her ability. A long-limbed and boyishly-built witch stood there with an amused expression on her face. She was dressed in Muggle clothing—a faux leather short sleeved jacket with green elastic bands around the waist and upper arms, a pair of comfortable velvety navy blue pants, and white trainers. Her pearl blond hair was fashionably styled with choppy layers and wispy bangs. She looked overwhelmingly familiar, but Hannah couldn’t put a finger on where she knew her from. Society pages, most likely.

“Welcome to your cabin,” the witch continued, giving an approving sweep of the room. Her voice was warm and husky.

Hannah nodded but said nothing.

Without a word and with a flick of her wand, the woman sent a Muggle jumpsuit covered with a sunflower print across the room and into Hannah’s hands. Hannah hesitated with the clothing held out in front of her, unsure as to what she should do.

“ _What?_ ” The witch asked after a period of silence.

“What should I do with this?” The question felt dumb.

“Uh, wear it?”

Hannah’s eyebrows rose.

“There’re underthings in the walnut chest. We estimated your current size based on the _Daily Prophet_ photographs, but I can have Riley tailor everything if they don’t fit.”

Hannah, without a word, made a beeline for the chest and threw it open. Inside were dozens of pairs of cotton underwear. They were the cheap kind one finds rolled up at the supermarket being sold in a pack of five. Hannah exhaled through her teeth in hesitant excitement and reached out to quickly tap at them with her pointer finger. When it was evident that they weren’t cursed, Hannah selected a white pair and pulled them on. They fit perfectly. The bras in there were black Muggle sports bras, but Hannah couldn’t care less. With pregnancy hormones still flowing through her body, the support afforded by them almost instantly eased the discomfort that her tender boobs experienced on a daily basis. Finally, she slipped on the jumper.

“You’ll wear normal clothing while on the estate’s grounds,” the witch commented as Hannah twisted about to get a better look at herself from the chest down.

“Understood,” Hannah stopped and assumed her polite standing position.

“The uniform only comes out when we have visitors or we leave this property.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The witch grimaced as she tucked her wand away insider her jacket. “What a fucked up program this is.”

Hannah blinked.

“Do you really not recognize me? At all? We were never close but we certainly had Potions together from our Third to Fifth years.”

Hannah shook her head, desperately trying to remember day to day social life in Hogwarts. Only main Harry Potter-centric events really stood out to her now. All extraneous information she unintentionally purged from her memory to make way for battle tactics and dueling techniques during the war. It was easier to not dwell on the good times, she had found.

“You taught me how to prepare fire bush seedlings? I showed you how to dice frozen Ashwinder eggs?” The witch’s smile faltered and her fingers went to the inside of her left forearm. “We had Divination together too.”

Hannah produced no answer.

The witch’s cool demeanor cracked, but she quickly smothered the hurt that flashed in her eyes for a brief moment with another smile. She bit down on the inside of her check before speaking.

“Daphne. My name Daphne G. Zabini. Back in school, last name was Greengrass. Was in Slytherin,” the witch shrugged, turning to inspect one of the bookshelves embedded in the wall behind her.

_Ah. Astoria’s older sister._

Hannah’s shared memoires with this witch failed to surface, but Hannah knew of her name and station in life. Greengrass was one of the last Sacred Twenty-Eight families with a “blood purity” as clear and traceable as the Malfoy family’s. All of them were just about as pale as the Malfoys too.

“Call me Dani, Hannah. I would appreciate it,” Daphne said politely. She scratched furiously at the inside of her forearm, adjusting it just enough for Hannah to see it. The ugly tattooed curse stood out starkly against her milky white skin.

_A Dark Mark._

Daphne glanced back and caught Hannah’s sightline. She nonchalantly turned back and held out her left arm for Hannah to get a solid look at the frightful snake slithering out of the skull’s mouth.

“Alecto Carrow personally recommended me for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s inner circle based on a couple of spying missions that I executed a year and a half ago. Said there weren’t enough female members since Bellatrix croaked.”

Hannah tore her eye away, but Daphne kept talking.

“I figured I could use my current position to secure some secondhand breeding stock for my husband’s personal use.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Here's the third chapter of my fan fiction of a fan fiction. :) After creating my own OC house-elf, it occurred to me just how much I love the species in the wizarding world. They deserve nothing but the best.
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

“At least, that’s how you have to word requests for the misogynistic pigs of Voldy’s most beloved dogs to get anything to happen,” Daphne ground her teeth and furiously drew her manicured glittering blue nails across the inactive design. The lines of it were raised and looked uncomfortable. The drag marks left pale pink lines across her skin. “Don’t agree to a Dark Mark, Hannah. It _itches_ incessantly _._ ”

“But, the summoning—” The question began to come out as a dry whisper but Hannah clamped her mouth shut and swallowed the words in a panic.

“The Dark Lord appears only when you intentionally press down hard on the snake’s head for at least twenty seconds. You can’t _accidentally_ summon him, as amusing as that would be. If anyone was stupid enough to attempt such a thing, it’d be _Goyle,_ the dumb cunt _._ I bet five galleons on it,” Daphne responded casually as she resorted to viciously rubbing her Dark Mark up and down on the fabric of her jacket. “Remember this: if you can’t feel the shaft of your radius, you aren’t pressing hard enough.”

“I—I see.”

“Have you eaten anything this evening?” Daphne asked, abruptly changing the subject. Her slightly wispy way of talking reminded her oddly a bit of Luna Lovegood’s. Her chest gave an unexpected spasm of grief at the reminder.

“No, ma’am—”

“‘No, Dani—’” Daphne corrected gently.

“No, Dani. I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch,” Hannah rectified her first statement and felt her cheeks go hot. It physically pained Hannah to call a wife by her first name, even if they were both the same age and allegedly acquaintances on equal footing at one point in their lives.

“Well, then let’s eat dinner together this evening. I caught you at a good time—coming home from work and seeing you being chased down by my mother-in-law. What a horror show that must have been. She’s never been a normal witch, but she’s been much more…eccentric since the accident. She’s mostly harmless, even if she’s not too thrilled that our application for you was accepted. Anyway—all this excitement has me starved.”

Hannah nodded politely, declining to make any comment about anyone that may make her have a disagreeable first impression in any way.

“Speak to me, will ya? I'm not a Legilimens. Can’t read your mind. No more of this nodding nonsense. Didn’t bring ya here to be a servant.”

“I will be very happy to dine with you,” Hannah responded in a hurried flush of words.

“We’ll…work on the formality. Despite what I do for work, I’m not here to bite your head off, I swear. I’m off-duty.”

“I—I will practice.”

“Good.”

Daphne walked over to the bookshelf she'd been looking at and pulled out a particularly ancient-looking and weathered tome concerning the complete history of mooncalf husbandry to retrieve a small yellow coin purse with a silver clasp tucked behind it.

“See this? Your personal stash of Floo powder. You have access to a closed network of fireplaces here on our property—you can go between here, your cabin I mean, the second floor parlor in the main house, the main house’s kitchen, and the greenhouse behind the main house. You may freely go between the kitchen and your cabin whenever you like. Osiris helps us keep track of your whereabouts in that manner, if you must know. The other two places will be mostly off limits. The second floor parlor is where you will be called to for your…copulation efforts,” Daphne grimaced as she said it, “and the greenhouse will be accessible when you secure permission from Blaise or me. Understood?”

“Yes.”

Daphne took a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the fire. The flames changed from electric blue to bright green. She stated their destination (the kitchen), stepped aside, and motioned for Hannah to go first. Hannah complied and with a whoosh, was transported in an instant.

The kitchen that she stepped into was not what she expected. It was a modestly sized kitchen with clear Italian influence in its design. The walls were white stucco and all of the wood and wooden accents, including the long table and chairs in the middle of the room, was the same rich dark walnut. Another contented fire that she stepped out of, this one red, crackled in the hearth-style fireplace decorated with hand-painted porcelain tiles of navy, mint green, and gold enamel. Vintage lamps hung from uncovered hewn rafters.

A middle-aged house-elf with donkey-like ears meticulously hovered over a copper pot on the iron stove located next to an elegant chrome-plated sink. Though she paid no mind to Hannah’s presence, the elf turned and stood at attention with the sound of Daphne entering the room.

“Riley,” Daphne said, absentmindedly addressing the elf as she removed her jacket and hung it on a wooden hook next to the door. Underneath the jacket she wore a plain faded green T-shirt. A white leather wand holder was strapped around her right bicep.

“Mistress Zabini! Riley is very glad to see you this evening.”

“Riley, this is Hannah. She’s going to be staying in the cabin for here on out. Treat her as you would treat me or Vhelade, yeah?”

“Yes, mistress. Riley will be very happy to attend to Hannah Hufflepuff!”

Daphne made a face like she was going to question the elf on the nickname, but shook her head and decided to sit down instead. Prompted by an incredulous look from Daphne, Hannah took a tentative seat across from the witch at the table.

“Say hello to Hannah, right?” Daphne said to the elf who seemed more interested in the pot’s contents than the stranger.

“Hello, Miss Hufflepuff! Riley is very happy to make your acquaintance,” the elf hurried to Hannah’s side and gave a small bow. She wore a lacy ivory napkin sewn into a short pleated dress and a bit of old checkered tablecloth fashioned into an apron. Based on her healthy green skin, the blush in her wrinkled cheeks, and her clean clothing, it gave Hannah some cheer that this household appeared to treat at least one of their house-elves with some decency. 

“Nice to meet you, Riley,” Hannah said politely. 

Riley smiled encouragingly before switching her attention to another task. She began busying herself with summoning ironstone bowls, plain white napkins, and silver utensils from a nearby cupboard by magic and laying them out in front of the two women by hand. Daphne fidgeted about with her thin wand in hand.

“Riley.”

“Yes, mistress?”

“Is Blaise home?”

“Master Zabini is not expected to return to the manor until tomorrow afternoon.”

The tension in Daphne’s face visibly lessened a little and she leaned back in her chair in relief. She finally put away her wand into the sheath. Hannah watched her movements carefully, folding her hands primly in front of her on the table as an unconscious habit.

“So,” Daphne began, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “I’m sure you have _plenty_ of questions about why you’re here and what our expectations for you will be. This is your opportunity to ask questions freely—but before you may ask, I have two questions for _you._ Answer honestly. There’ll be no penalty for your answers.”

“Yes?”

“One, what do you remember about Blaise Zabini?”

_Ah, shit._

Blaise Zabini. Her new master, apparently. The name, like Daphne’s, was familiar but difficult to place. Hannah wracked her brain for memories.

“Hmm,” Hannah focused her eye down on the silverware that Riley put out. She straightened the spoon that laid on the napkin. “He was in our year, I think. He was on the Slytherin Quidditch team—a Chaser, maybe? All I remember about him is that he was very quiet—oh! I remember that he had some sort of association with Ginny Weasley for a while during our sixth year, outside of Quidditch that is.”

Hannah threw up her mask as the memory of Ginny’s death overwhelmed her. The High Reeve had carried her body back slung over his shoulder. The future Death Eater peace officers, including Marcus Flint, excitedly hung her body up in the Great Hall. They’d smashed her face in after getting ahold of the body—if not for the red hair, she’d be unrecognizable by the time Hannah saw her. They left her hanging for nearly five months before she rotted out of the noose and hit the ground with a squelch.

Daphne thoughtfully nodded in agreement. “He found Ginvera to be very attractive, despite everything. I think if she wasn’t a Weasley, he would have asked her out to Hogsmeade at some point. Might’ve even suggested a romp to Puddifoot's Tea Shop,” she laughed.

“I see.”

“It’s a shame the High Reeve killed her in such a gruesome manner,” Daphne sighed wistfully, though her expression didn’t match her words. With her hooded watery blue eyes, she watched Hannah carefully in a way that made her immediately uncomfortable. “If she survived and made it into the Repopulation Program, I would have submitted a request on his behalf for her immediately. Imagine, little red-headed heirs running about the place. I would have been in heaven. I’m weak for ginger-haired babies.”

Riley pulled the steaming copper pot off the stove right after it began to audibly boil. The elf walked around the table with the pot levitating behind her and wordlessly directed a wooden ladle to scoop its contents into Daphne’s and Hannah’s bowls. It was a hearty stew with minimally chopped purple and blue fingerling potatoes, scallions, yellow tomatoes, and black carrots. It smelled heavenly and full of fresh spices.

“Master Zabini will be pleased to know that you’ve used the last of his autumn harvest,” Daphne purred. Riley’s nose and the tips of her ears turned bright red in delight. The elf began to quietly hum a tune— _possibly Madame Bletchley’s “I Dream of a Boil and a Bubble,”_ Hannah thought, as Riley went back to the sink to pour the rest of the stew in another container and begin cleaning up.

“Cheers,” Daphne said dryly and bit into a carrot in her first spoonful of stew. Hannah watched her eat for about a minute before beginning to eat herself.

“Anyways, back to Blaise,” Daphne balanced her spoon in her stew bowl before resuming her original train of thought. “I realize you have little choice in the matter, but I can _guarantee_ that Blaise is a better lover than _Marcus Flint,_ the bloody troll. He is quite…generous and has remarkable stamina. Made sure Stroud examined him in detail and ensured that everything is genetically alright with him too. He has strong and healthy little swimmers, I assure you,” Daphne cracked a smile at her choice of Muggle words. “I am sure any children he gives you will be healthy and intelligent. The Zabini genetics are exceedingly dominant, so I have no doubt that they will all resemble their father. My second question: Did you find him good-looking, by the by? When we were at Hogwarts?”

Hannah again searched around her brain for memories. She’d seen him about, lurking around with Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, and occasionally Crabbe and Goyle, but she couldn’t remember what he looked like, really. From nuggets of gossip that she could recall from around the Huffepuff dormitories, he took plenty of Ravenclaw girls and the occasional Hufflepuff into his bed, seemingly preferring the girls in those houses over his own. She'd witnessed a couple of verbal spouts between the Hufflepuff beauties over him, to say the least.

“My roommates found him to be handsome,” Hannah concluded. “That is all I can really remember.”

Daphne ate as she thought of a response. Hannah consciously mirrored her movements, anxiety creeping up her limbs as she hoped that she didn’t answer the question incorrectly. She braced herself for a slap or a verbal volley of insults. Finally, Daphne shrugged.

“I guess it’ll be more of a surprise when he comes home and you can see him again. Also, though he is home more often than I am, you’ll not be required to interact with him for more than a couple of times a month. After a household of constant Flint and Parkinson, I expect that is a feasible arrangement for you,” Daphne scraped at the bottom of her bowl with her spoon. “And hopefully it’ll make you conceive sooner. The happier Hebridean Black, the more potent its blood, as the saying goes. It always worked for my mum and her Crup bitches. She spoiled those dogs more than she spoiled her own children.”

Hannah nodded politely, intentionally ignoring the mandatory task of becoming pregnant for a third time in less than somewhere around four months. If she thought about it, it would greatly upset her and mess up the system of intentional obliviousness she had in place. Last thing she wanted was tears in front of Daphne on the first night. “That will be perfectly adequate, I believe.”

“Good. I’ll admit though, I can’t stop finding it amusing that you can’t remember much about him _either_. You must’ve been allergic to Slytherins.”

Hannah flushed in spite of herself and focused her sight on a particularly large chunk of purple potato that she was trying to mash down with the bowl of her spoon.

“He still speaks rather fondly of you from time to time, which was one of the main reasons I selected you for our surrogate. I hope he’s not disappointed.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who has taken their time out of the day to read my fic! It is very much appreciated. I hope your winter season has been full of cheer of some variety.
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

“He probably will be,” Hannah murmured as she successfully mushed the bit of purple potato down into the white creamy liquid portion of the stew with her spoon.

Riley wordlessly cleared Daphne’s white bowl, but left Hannah’s alone. The house-elf turned on the sink and began magically scrubbing dishes while Daphne left Hannah squirming in the silence and self-doubt.

“Hm. I will politely disagree,” Daphne responded finally, propping up her chin in her hand. “But that’s something for you and him to figure out. Well, then! It’s time for _you_ to ask questions now. I’ll answer as honestly as I can. I’ll tell you if I can’t give you an answer or if I don’t know.”

Hannah ate three more spoonfuls of stew before answering. The meal was rich and savory—far more tender and delicious than anything that Pansy ever fed her or even what she remembered about the food from during the war, but she was ridiculously self-conscious about eating it here in front of the new wife she needed to somehow impress and was failing miserably at.

“Come on,” Daphne finally coaxed her in a softer and more encouraging tone. “Try me.”

Hannah swallowed one more bite while carefully considering her first question. A test question.

“What is today’s date?”

“Sixteenth of February, 2005.”

Hannah nodded. That’d been the today’s date on Marcus' copy of the _Daily Prophet._

“How long have you been married to Zabini?”

“Precisely three months after the Final Battle—so, about a year and four months, give or take? It was an arranged pureblood marriage like everyone else’s, but Blaise and I have always had a good comradery so it’s worked out sufficiently.”

“Congratulations on your…satisfactory marriage.”

“Why, thank you!” Daphne said, a genuine smile lighting up her face briefly. She pulled up her sleeve and began to scratch at her Dark Mark again. Hannah wondered if Dark Marks could bleed from too much contact.

Hannah took another spoonful of stew and anxiously chewed on the vegetables to give herself a chance to think of the next question she could ask without possibly offending Daphne. It was like her adolescent anxiety of eating and drinking in front of other students at Hogwarts had re-manifested at an extremely inopportune time. It didn’t help that Daphne blinked very little to begin with. It was being like being watched by a snake.

“Does the elder Mrs. Zabini live here with you?”

“Yes, her quarters are on the third floor. Safest that way, both for her and for everyone else here.”

“What happened to her?”

Daphne opened her mouth like she was about to answer, but quickly retracted whatever she was about to say. “I think that story is something for Vhelade or Blaise to tell you. _Please_ , by all means, you can call everyone who lives here by their first names—even Vhelade won’t mind, I assure you. It’s less confusing that way for everyone involved.”

Hannah nodded and took a deep breath, willing herself not to pitifully begin crying for broaching a subject she shouldn’t have, even though Daphne didn’t seem to take any offense to it.

The past couple of hours felt like a fever dream—a sudden and unexpected outpouring of kindness after months of none at all. She felt like a starved beggar woman stumbling across a lavish Christmas feast that she received an invitation to partake in. She’d dreamed about receiving this kind of treatment so often and _so desperately._ Now that it was in front of her, she was absolutely terrified of taking anything put in front of her at face value.

What if this family changed their minds and wanted to be addressed by their last names? What would they do to her? With a marked Death Eater as her new mistress, she didn’t want to find out.

“What does Za—Blaise do for work?”

“I’ll let Blaise divulge that to you on his own time,” Daphne answered instantly while still failing to blink.

 _Strike two._ Hannah let out a shuddering breath and failed to keep her bottom lip from trembling. She internally cursed at herself for allowing herself to show weakness in this way and so quickly. She waited for a volley of insults to come pouring down upon her.

Daphne must have seen the way her eye clouded with tears and realized her mistake, for she quickly abandoned the attempt to get Hannah to ask questions and promptly changed the subject.

“You’ll like the greenhouse. It’s a heated Victorian glasshouse, built here in 1865 for my grandmother to raise her heirloom Fanged Geraniums—we’re on the Greengrass estate, by the way. Forgot to mention that. Since Astoria moved out, it sat around vacant until Blaise took it over this past spring to raise vegetables and a couple of other plants for potion ingredients. He thought you might like a space to grow your own flora, so we sectioned off a portion of it for your use. He recalls you quite enjoying Herbology—is that correct?”

Hannah held her head back and forced the tears back down. “Yes, I’ve always loved Herbology,” she responded with a thickened throat that she then tried to quietly clear.

“Good, because Blaise needs a fellow plant enthusiast. My eyes were fixated on the stars or trained on a History of Magic textbook in Hogwarts. Never cared for anything that required dirt or dragon dung. I couldn’t tell you what… _Puffapods_ are used for now if my life depended on it.”

Daphne pulled out her wand and interrupted the conversation with an “ _Accio Superior Red.”_ Hannah listened as the opened green glass bottle of wine audibly bumped and bumbled its way through the house before entering the kitchen and settling itself on front of the table in front of Daphne. Riley wordlessly conjured two fine crystal wine glasses in front of them without being asked to.

“You know what this is, Hannah?” Daphne asked as she tucked her wand back into its holder.

“No?”

“A fucking terrible brand of wine produced, aged, and distributed by the Malfoy Apothecary. The insufferable tosser that is my brother-in-law gave me an _entire case_ of the bloody stuff for our wedding gift,” Daphne groused. “They say it’s the best red wine in the entire wizarding world because it was _matured,”_ she exaggerated the word in a pretentious nasally tone, “for a thousand years. _Please._ The bloody _Malfoy_ _family_ in England hasn’t been in existence for that long. They came over here because of their friendship with the first Norman Muggle king. Before then, they were gallivanting around France as poor swindlers and thieves. _Bah_. Besides, they didn’t open the Apothecary until after the 1707 dissolution of Wizards' Council loosened up magical alcohol distribution policies. There’s no conceivable _way_ it could be a thousand-year-old wine.”

She turned the aged label around so that Hannah could get a good look at it. It depicted a stylized illustration of the Malfoy crest with the black dragons on either side of the crest crawling around and occasionally spewing spouts of fire. The word “Superior Red” was emblazoned across the bottom of the label in matching fiery text.

“And the name? _Pft._ Convince any snobby blood supremacist that your shitty wine _also_ doesn’t mix with whatever the grape-equivalent of Muggles is and they’ll happily drop 3400 galleons on a bottle.”

Daphne uncorked it, gave it a smell, and screwed up her face in pure disgust. Riley laughed from where she stood at the sink as she magically scoured the stew pot.

Daphne held out the bottle to Hannah. “Here, take a whiff.”

Hannah reluctantly took the bottle and gave an experimental sniff. It carried awful acrid notes on top of the red wine of something that she couldn’t quite place.

“Smells like Flobberworm mucus, don’t you think?”

Hannah couldn’t help but let a small smile slip. “That’s precisely what I was trying to think of.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Daphne said with strong _feeling_ , drawing out the ‘you’ in her gratitude. “Blaise says it smells perfectly adequate and I think he’s an idiot.”

“Does it taste better than it smells?”

“Ugh. I would say no. It has a slimy mouth sensation that reminds me of Gillywater.”

“Then why do you drink it?” Hannah asked quietly.

“It’s the only thing that Draco Malfoy—my only sister’s husband, if you don’t know—asks me about at our mandatory family gatherings. ‘Are you enjoying the wine?’ ‘How many bottles have you had?’ ‘Have you sent your compliments to my father yet?’” Daphne imitated the man’s dry and bored intonations in a mocking manner. “If he wasn’t a powerful Legilimens, I would have poured the entire case out into the privet hedge behind the house two days after the wedding. He’d never try to read my thoughts, but I can never be too careful.”

“Sounds like a difficult situation,” Hannah admitted with some twisted sympathy.

She knew only minimal details about the current status of the youngest Malfoy, mostly through Marcus’ gushing adoration for the man. _“He can cast Killing Curses about like nobody’s business,”_ he’d say. That sentence made her blood run cold. Besides that, she knew that he was a well-regarded Death Eater within the Dark Lord’s inner circle, the husband to the popular socialite Astoria Malfoy, and most importantly to Hannah, the master of Surrogate Number 1, the Muggleborn witch Hermione Jean Granger. The last surviving member of the Order of the Phoenix. Hannah wished she could ask questions about Hermione. If only just to know if she made it to February.

“If I have to keep drinking this sludge to stay in his good graces, I’ll do it,” Daphne pulled out the silver-tipped stopper and poured herself a generous portion of the visibly thickened alcohol. “Would you like a taste, by the by?”

“I can’t—”

“ _Ah_ , you probably can’t drink with all of this conception business. My error. Apologies.”

“If…If I may go back to our conversation about the greenhouse, I must ask: what can I grow there?” Hannah switched up the conversation topic now that she had built up a little more courage. A thrill of excitement shot down her spine at the revelation. _It’s something to do that I like._

“Just as long as it isn’t dangerous, anything really,” Daphne shrugged as she took a gulp of wine and winced, “but _no_ Screechsnap. Blaise tried to grow it this past June and it kept me up all night. Silencing charms did nothing.”

“How do I request seeds and gardening materials?”

“Just ask or write to me or Blaise. Riley will deliver everything to you once you’ve received our approval.”

“… _Strawberries_. Could I start with strawberry seedlings?”

“Sure, why not? I can have them here by the end of the week. Everything else you probably need will be likely there already—Blaise went ahead and bought extra supplies prior your arrival.”

Hannah’s face warmed and she bowed her head. “Thank you.”

Daphne waved off the gratitude. “No need to thank me. It’ll cost less than a galleon for a couple of strawberry plants and Blaise won’t mind you using his supplies whenever.”

“Could I explore the greenhouse tomorrow? Just to orient myself, if that would be alright.”

“Perfectly fine with me. I’ll keep the fireplace there open until the evening.”

“Wonderful,” Hannah breathed.

They took couple of minutes of quiet companionship for Hannah to finish her now lukewarm stew and for Daphne to knock back a glass and a half of wine. Daphne was the one to break the silence after Riley wordlessly gathered Hannah’s bowl and unused wine glass.

“Hannah—I feel as if it is my duty to let you know in some greater detail why we selected you out of the all of the surrogates. What I’ve said already stays true. Both Blaise and I hold you in warm regards, and have done so for a long time. You also weren't difficult to remove from Flint’s custody—Stroud expected suspicious activity in their household. She had trouble placing you elsewhere because of, well—”

“—my missing eye.”

Daphne looked like she wanted to cringe away from the admission. Hannah lauded her for not bringing up the uncovered gaping black hole in her head up earlier, but it wasn’t a topic that could be casually overlooked. She had accepted that fact a long time ago.

Her missing eye was unsightly to behold and spooked children quite terribly. Pansy forbid her to go out in public by herself after she unwillingly upset an entire flock of young school children by walking past them on the way home after attending to a errand at Gringotts. The _Daily Prophet_ and the other tabloids had a field day with that story. 

“Yes, _that_ , but also because potential hosting families don’t want the Hufflepuff surrogates because of concerns about their future children’s temperaments. A load of old bullocks, if you ask me, but I’m a bit of a heretic in the circles I abide in,” Daphne’s eyes glittered dangerously for a mere millisecond before she returned to sipping on her nasty wine.

“When I offered Blaise as a stud, Stroud jumped at the opportunity. My interest in you is quite selfish, I’m afraid,” she paused in her thoughts before continuing. “We are second cousins. Your great aunt, Sienna Lee Abbott, was my great-grandmother. Were you aware of this?”

Hannah shook her head. Her father told her very little about their family history. He was never proud of the legacy of the Abbott family and tried to distance himself from it. Hannah remembered that he had let it slip one night when he had a bit too much scotch that right before he married her mother, he asked her mum if he could take her name instead. Her mum had steadfastly refused, of course. The Bletchley family weren’t much better and the name “Abbott” was much more pleasant on the ears.

 _Is he alive?_ The thought struck her in the heart and knocked the wind of her lungs. She last heard from him two weeks before the Final Battle. He claimed in his letter that he was headed to Spain for the foreseeable future, but no more correspondence was to be found after that. She mentally pulled out the metaphorical stake and put it away to deal with at another moment in time.

“I see. I’m not surprised. My family doesn’t like to publicize the connection, especially with your current…station in this political environment. And maybe because Sienna was a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts too, so who knows really. Well, I’d like to have some sort of connection to the children we three will raise, even if I’m only their second cousin once removed,” Daphne admitted rather sheepishly. “If the Zabini genetics happen to fail and your children end up with the Abbott chin, I can claim familial resemblance too.”

“…We?”

“Blaise and I plan to keep you on as a nanny after you have delivered a reasonable number of heirs.”

“Very well,” Hannah said politely. She kept her face placid, though she could see how Daphne searched her face for a reaction. This was another statement with long-term consequences she didn’t particularly care to explore right at this moment. She mentally filed it away for after dinner, or maybe even tomorrow.

“…Seeing as you seem finished with your meal, would it be reasonable for you if we turned in for the night?” Daphne knocked back her third glass of wine and set the glass on the table. Riley, who now prioritized cleaning the kitchen floor around Daphne and Hannah, wordlessly cleared her glass by magic and dropped it in the sink with the other recently cleared dirty dishes and cutlery to attend to later. Daphne wordlessly sent the bottle back from whence it came with a flick of her wand.

“Yes, that would be a fitting call.” Hannah felt a sudden wave of exhaustion come over her and she stifled a yawn through her teeth.

“You’re free to take to-morrow to sleep in as much as you want. When you wake, Riley or our other house-elf Marie will help you get ready and provide your breakfast. After that, Marie agreed to give you a brief tour of your cottage, the greenhouse, the portions of the manor that you’re free to go to without permission, and perhaps some of the grounds if you are feeling privy to it. I am not sure yet if I will be gone for work or working from home, but we will see.”

“Thank you.”

“Right, right.” Daphne placed the yellow purse of Floo powder on the table in front of Hannah. “Have a good rest.”

“I will try to.”

“Good night, Hannah.”

“Good night…Dani.”

With a tired smile, Dani Apparated away without another word.

“Good night, Miss Hufflepuff,” Riley squeaked as Hannah stood.

“Good evening, Riley.”

As soon as Hannah stepped out of the blue Bluebell flames, she pulled her hair down with a good yank and didn’t bother to undo the braid itself. She crawled underneath the quilt on the bed without permitting a single thought to cross her mind. Hannah fell asleep listening to the fire’s contented crackling in less than a minute.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannah wasn’t sure if it was the Apparating, the Floo powder, the stew, or the unexpected kindness at the hands of a marked Death Eater, but _something_ badly messed with her psyche, for she dreamed of Ernie that night.

_1 July 2003._

_During the Final Battle, Moody and Ron assigned Hannah and Ernie Macmillan to the task of protecting the Order’s magical antiquities while cowering away in Hagrid’s relocated hut within the Forgotten Forest. Finely gilded and bejeweled antiquities, as well as extremely rare and valuable books (the sentient ones placed in stasis), packed the hut to its rafters. There was barely any room to move. Though countless charms were in place to ward off all possible evil beings from descending upon the one-roomed building, Hannah remembered sitting on the edge of Hagrid’s huge rocking chair with every muscle fiber wound up and ready for action. She gripped her wand so tightly in her left hand that her knuckles turned white._

_“Protect the contents of this room with your life,” Moody growled. Hannah intended to do just that._

_The ticking clock above the empty fireplace showed a quarter before five o’clock in the afternoon. They received no notice of further action since ten minutes past noon, when Seamus Finnigan’s silver fox arrived to tell them that the bomb successfully decimated and destroyed the Astronomy tower._

_Ernie paced the little free space they had in tight circles. Hannah watched Ernie practice his wand work with small precise spins and twirls of his wand, wordlessly mouthing out the spells as he did so. Irritation and impatience drove off of him in waves. On occasion, tremors from torture shook through his wand hand and threw the practice spell off. He’d then curse very quietly under his breath and begin the attempt again. Hannah hadn’t experienced the Cruciatus Curse up to that point, but had heard all of the stories about it in excruciating detail. Skull splitting, skin flaying pain._

_Ernest “Ernie” Macmillan was her better half—witty, intelligent, sharp-tongued, and undyingly loyal to his friends and the causes he believed in. In Hannah’s opinion, he was better suited for Ravenclaw than Hufflepuff with his exceptional natural talents for Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was a wickedly good dueler to boot. Hannah felt safest with Ernie, especially after the Justin’s death and Susan’s disappearance. She could plan and execute her nighttime missions while he was the unmovable muscle silently trailing behind her. Hannah wouldn’t trade him for anyone else in the world, especially on such an important day like that day, but she knew how much he wanted to be in the center of the fight. They hadn’t exchanged a single word since receiving the assignment._

_Their silence was interrupted by a desperate banging at the door. Hannah jumped up with a start. Ernie ran over to see who it was through the peephole._

_“Dean—it’s Dean! Open the door!”_

_At Ernie’s command, Hannah gave a flick of her wand and the three rusty metal locks that manually held the door closed creaked open. Ernie disabled the wards with a complicated series of swishes and triangles._

_Hannah opened the door and Dean Thomas stumbled in. He had a wooden right hand prosthetic now—nothing complicated but functional enough for the most basic tasks. It was the best piece of equipment that the resistance could afford for him with the reserves running dry. Dean dueled quite successfully with his left hand now, a feat that very few of his compatriots thought he could pull off, including Hannah. The right side of his face was covered in gangrenous-looking purplish green splotches. The skin around his left eye was puffy and red. The whites of his eyes were red from broken blood vessels. He smelled like blood soup._

_“Sword of Gryffindor. We—Neville needs it for the snake. Harry destroyed the horcrux in the Ravenclaw diadem—just the snake now,” Dean sputtered. He coughed and spat two of his molars and a gob of bloody spit onto the carpet._

_Ernie wordlessly summoned the beautiful goblin-wrought sword shielded in its golden scabbard into Dean’s hands._

_“Thanks,” Dean turned the leave when Ernie caught his robes._

_“Are you with anyone?” Ernie inquired, worry spreading over his face._

_Dean shook his head._

_“Then I’m going with you to the castle.”_

_“No!” Hannah interrupted. “Ernie, please. You can’t leave me here.”_

_“Ernie, stay with Hannah. We can do this without your help,” Dean agreed. He pulled the sword from the scabbard and examined the shining blade._

_“No, I’m going. You can’t change my mind. Hannah—I trust you can hold down the fort while I’m absent. I’ll be gone for no longer than an hour.”_

_Hannah’s hands began to tremble. She felt horribly selfish, but she_ knew _she couldn’t fight off more than a single vampire or at most five Dementors at a time. She’d be dead if she tried to duel face to face with a marked Death Eater._

_“No more than an hour.”_

Hannah panicked when she couldn’t picture his whole face as she studied it in front of her in this dreamscape. She could only see a fraction of the right side of his profile. Just the outline of his pointed chin up to his dull blue-grey eyes. He’d aged so much in those last few months.

_“I promise.”_

_Just like that, Ernie exited the hut with Dean, leaving Hannah to lock everything back up and build up the wards around the hut again. She did so with unsteady fingers and a wavering voice._

_Ernie didn’t come back in an hour. In an hour and a half. In two hours. After two and a half hours passed, Hannah gathered enough courage to look outside into the Forbidden Forest. She cracked open the heavy iron door and was greeted with faint but unmistakable screams of human agony and a glimpse of bright orange light through the dark trees._

_Hogwarts was on fire._

_Hannah closed the door and sunk to her knees. She turned on the wards one more time before permitting herself to curl into a fetal position on the cold ground. Tears began to fall. She fought to remain silent._

_A silvery-blue creature ran through the door of the hut with a loud bang, giving Hannah a bad fright. The hulking boar patronus that looked like it weighed fifteen stone stopped in front of where Hannah lay. She could almost feel the warm exhale from its snout. As it looked at her, its chest rose and fell rapidly. A strange spike of black dark magic penetrated its chest covered in wiry silver fur._

_The boar opened its mouth. The ragged gasps and death rattles of a dying young man poured out._

_“_ Hannah. Hannah. I’m sorry. Wasn’t able to save you. Be safe. Love you. Run _.”_

_The patronus froze and shattered into innumerable tiny pieces in front of her. The sherds crackled and burst like thousands of tiny fireworks into nothing._

Hannah was pulled from this wicked half-memory and half-dream by the feeling of tiny fingers in her hair. It was the kind of waking where she felt disoriented and not exactly sure was real and what was imaginary. Where, at once upon a time, she wrote incomprehensible notes to herself afterward in her dream diary to ask Professor Trelawney about when Divination class was over.

The hands took out her mussed-up braid and smoothed down her untangled hair against her scalp. When she felt their fingers finish their task, Hannah turned her head and looked upon the face of a stranger house-elf. She was obviously younger than Riley. A red and white checkered tablecloth was fashioned into a long ankle-length dress on her lean frame. A couple scattered tufts of black hair stood at attention on top of her head. Like Riley, she looked remarkably healthy, but this house-elf carried a much more solemn expression on her face.

“Hello, Mrs. Hufflepuff. My name is Marie. Mrs. Zabini was concerned when she didn’t see you shifting about in your sleep on the surveillance recording.”

 _Surveillance recording? Like a Muggle security camera?_ The thought hurt her brain more than it should so early in the morning.

“Oh—thank you. Mrs. Za—Daphne told me that I could sleep in for as long as I needed to.”

“I do not serve the younger Mrs. Zabini,” the house-elf sniffed. She spoke in a dignified manner unlike Hannah had ever heard from a house-elf. Her words had touches of a unique accent that was distinctly non-English. Marie summoned clean underthings from the chest and a pale rose pink dress from somewhere unknown and laid them out on the foot of the bed. “The elder Mrs. Zabini grew concerned that the Flints may have poisoned or otherwise harmed you before your arrival. She asked me to check on you and ensure that was not the case.”

“Oh, I see,” Hannah responded in what she hoped sounded like a wistful manner. Fear constricted her chest.

“She requests that you join her for brunch.” The house-elf busied herself with magically reigniting the Bluebell fire from its violet coals. She summoned several logs from a stack of wood next to the fireplace and stacked them strategically over the young flames.

“Brunch?” Hannah sat up in bed. She’d slept at an angle that caused a horrid crick in her neck.

“Yes, brunch.” Marie placed the purse of Floo Powder on Hannah’s nightstand.

“When does she want me?”

“As soon as you are ready, but she tells me that you are not to hurry. Do you need assistance changing?”

“No, I will dress myself.”

“Then I will leave you to do so. Your bathroom is that green door beside the stairs,” Marie said, pointing. “It is stocked with toiletries that we ensured you can handle with your…restrictions. I encourage you to take a shower.” With that, the house-self popped out of the room and left Hannah alone.

Hannah swung her feet down and anticipated standing on a cold wooden floor with her bare feet. To her surprise and relief, it felt heated. She stripped off the romper and underthings that she was provided with last night and folded everything out of habit, replacing the clean clothing Marie laid out with the dirty outfit on the bed.

Naked and with the clean clothing in hand, Hannah made her way to the bathroom. It was small and cozy, consisting of only a sink with a mirror, a toilet, and a shower concealed by an embroidered shower curtain depicting a proud badger emerging from its den. Hannah began to sense a theme in the decorations.

Hannah placed her clean clothes on the top of the toilet tank and was about to start fiddling around with the water knobs in the shower when she glimpsed herself in the mirror and stopped. The young woman that stared back at her in the mirror above the sink wasn’t the same one that she remembered from the war. Hannah covered her eye socket to force her thoughts away from _that_ aspect of her appearance. She was generally healthier-looking now, but her skin had essentially become one giant red stretchmark with the considerable weight gain she’d experienced since last November. As far as she knew, a concoction of bigger meals, more limited exercise opportunities, and many questionable fertility potions is what produced them. They marked her arms near her armpits, thighs, buttocks, breasts, hips, stomach, and most impressively (in her opinion) the middle of her back. She wasn’t a stranger to them to _having_ them thanks to a rapid early puberty, but the _multitude_ of them had increased exponentially in the past couple months. After several snide comments from Marcus during and after sex, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t extremely self-conscious about them.

Hannah turned on the shower and was pleased to find that the water was the precise temperature that she liked to stand under. Still exhausted, she sat down on the tiled floor to wash herself and her hair with a provided bar of apple blossom-scented shampoo.

To be truthful, Hannah missed her leg hair. The spell that Stroud used to permanently remove it caused some sort of allergic reaction with her sensitive skin. Thousands of tiny crusty scabs developed over the follicles on her shins, calves and thighs. When the scabs fell off, hundreds of tiny shiny scars marred her skin. She ran her hands over these dimpled scars while she scrubbed down her legs.

Hannah didn’t dare prolong the shower for too much longer. She finished and toweled herself off within five minutes. After the undergarments, she quickly pulled the long sleeved and high neck dress over herself before fumbling around the bathroom. Under the sink, Hannah found an assorted menagerie of short pieces of ribbon and a soft bristle brush. She threw her wet hair up into a modest low bun and secured it with a mint ribbon.

After hanging up her towel, she hurried back over to the fireplace with her purse of Floo powder. Osiris poked his head out of blue flames, glanced at Hannah, and yawned. He jumped out of the fire as if he was waiting for Hannah to use the Floo Network and watched her expectantly. His brilliant purple skin gleamed in the midday sun that came through the windows.

Hannah stepped out of the fireplace to find Marie alone in the kitchen. She stood on a footstool at the sink and rinsed off delicious-looking orange apples by hand. A sweet scent emanated from the oven.

“You may sit down, Miss Hufflepuff. Missus is in garden clipping rosemary. She will be back shortly.”

The table was set for two people at the end of the table furthest away from the counter. Hannah’s mouth went dry as she saw her worn red slippers resting between the two table settings.

Hannah watched Marie finely mince large white onions with a levitating knife for only a couple of minutes before the elder Mrs. Zabini appeared with a soft pop next to the oven. Hannah gave a start and began to stand before catching herself and sitting back down. Much to her humiliation, she began to shake like a rabbit.

The elder Mrs. Zabini was breathtakingly beautiful, there was no doubt about that. She was exceedingly tall and carried herself with an elegant dignity of someone born and raised among wealth. She wore her tight black curls very short. It was a methodical hairstyle that emphasized her long neck, strong jaw, high cheek bones, and triangular hazel eyes. Her entire being was made up of sharp lines and angles. There was no softness to be found on her body. Hannah’s eyes flitted to the wide hypertrophic scar that started at her left temple, cut diagonally across her forehead, and ended at the tragus of her right ear.

“Miss Hannah Abbott, I presume,” Mrs. Zabini said lightly and without much emotion. “It is lovely to meet you in person. My son and daughter-in-law are quite excited about your arrival.” Though her English was perfect, her accent was unmistakably from southern Italy.

“It is nice to meet you too.” Hannah was completely taken back by the polite and aristocratic response after what happened last night.

Mrs. Zabini removed her black trench coat and hung it a hook. Underneath she looked ridiculously comfortable in a ribbed ivory cardigan and navy culottes. She pulled off her flip-flops and walked across the kitchen barefoot to the sink. There, she filled up a small glass vase with water and arranged her rosemary cuttings, all by hand. Hannah’s attention was stolen away by the ornate bronze bracelet around her right wrist.

“Marie, could you run a diagnosis spell on Hannah, please?” Mrs. Zabini asked. “I’d like to see everything for myself.”

Marie cast the spell from where she stood at the cutting board. Mrs. Zabini came closer and looked over the sky blue crescent of light that hung upside-down in front of Hannah’s chest. She gave a curt nod and the crescent disappeared. Marie went back to her onions.

“It is good to see that you are in adequate health,” Mrs. Zabini remarked as she sat down across from Hannah.

A manual Muggle timer went off and Marie hurried to turn it off by hand. She then fetched the contents from the oven—steaming, golden brown and sugar encrusted croissants. She doled one out to each of the two witches and went to fetch two glasses of orange juice and an assortment of glossy jams and preserves.

“Thank you. I strive to stay healthy,” Hannah responded. She waited until Mrs. Zabini broke into her pastry before doing the same.

Unlike Dani, Mrs. Zabini made no qualms about blatantly studying at Hannah’s empty eye socket. “I hope Blaise has a plan for _that_ ,” Mrs. Zabini said with a haughty note in her voice as she covered a bit of croissant with tart cherry preserves.

Hannah wiped her hands on the provided napkin and chose to say nothing.

“May I see your manacles?”

Hannah obeyed by putting both hands on the table. Mrs. Zabini reached over and twisted her left manacle around to read “Property of,” still followed by a blank space.

“It appears like my son will need to activate these in person.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I guess it is none of my business either, is it? I am sure Blaise knows what to do. I’ll leave him to it.” Mrs. Zabini gave a little laugh before transitioning to the reason she called Hannah there to begin with. “So, Hannah,” Mrs. Zabini began, “my daughter-in-law informed me this morning that she failed to disclose some important confidential information that you should know about me, now that you will be living here for the foreseeable future. I am a lycanthrope.” Her manner-of-fact way of revealing it further surprised Hannah.

Mrs. Zabini raised her extended pointer finger to her temple and ran it across the scar that Hannah kept glancing to. She now noticed additional hyperpigmented hypertropic scars on the back of the witch’s hand. Hannah dropped her eye, shame heating up her face.

“I’ve been a lycanthrope for eight months now. My store of Wolfsbane potion is in the kitchen pantry in case you ever need to access it. Marie and Riley both have ready access to it as well. I ask that you keep track of the full moon and plan accordingly in case something goes awry. During my transformation, I spend my time alone on the third floor. Do _not_ go to the third floor under any condition during the full moon.” She leaned forward and looked squarely into Hannah’s remaining eye. “Understood?”

The way that she emphasized that last word reminded Hannah of just how dangerous the woman in front of her may be. The story of Blaise Zabini’s gorgeous mother and her seven suspiciously deceased husbands was a common tale to swap around during her Third Year.

“Yes. Understood.”

“Good. Now with that out of the way, I must encourage you to call me by my first name. Vhelade. ‘Veh-lah-day.’” The underlying threat that her voice carried before was completely gone in an instant, replaced by an aristocratic charismatic cheeriness.

“Vhelade,” Hannah repeated, testing the name on her tongue.

“I normally don’t permit such intimacy so quickly, but Daphne begged me to grant you the luxury,” Vhelade shrugged as she spread more preserves on her pastry.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Vhelade took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “I do commend you on the level of athleticism you’ve maintained despite…the miscarriages. I hope you won’t have to wear these slippers for a while. They look awfully impractical for even _walking_. After the birth of my first grandchild, I will ensure that you receive the best shoes available for running and an excellent personal trainer to lose the excess weight you may gain.”

“That will be lovely,” Hannah said politely. The croissant was delicious but she wanted to eat even less in front of Vhelade than she did in front of Dani.

“Tell me, Hannah,” Vhelade gave a polite smile that failed to reach her eyes, “does your family produce more sons or daughters?”

Hannah thought over the question. “Slightly more daughters on both sides of my family, as far as I am aware,” she admitted quietly.

“Good. I want granddaughters more than anything. Don’t tell my son that you know this,” Vhelade brought her voice down just above a conspiratorial whisper and fought against what looked like a honest grin, “but when he was about five years old, he loved playing ‘pretend father’ to two antique dolls that I owned. He’d sneak them out of their display cases to feed them, take them on walks, brush their hair—activities like that. It was _precious_. I have an inkling that he still wants daughters based on how much he adores Theodore Nott’s baby girl.”

Hannah blinked. _Does Nott have a surrogate?_ She was unsure.

The bronze bracelet on Vhelade’s wrist turned bright gold. The intertwined bands began to move around each other like restless serpents. Vhelade glanced at the bracelet and greyed considerably.

“Speaking of Blaise, it appears like we are about to be blessed by his company in three…two…”

The hearth fire turned into a giant green fireball as a tall and handsome man in silver pinstriped robes emerged from it in a hurry. He fell onto his hands and knees. The edge of his robes and the insides of his sleeves were stained a brilliant red. The hairs on Hannah’s neck stood on end and the rabbit-like shaking began anew.

“Mamma,” he uttered in a deep rumbling voice. His full attention was trained on the ground right in front of him.

“Yes?”

His breath came shallowly and rapidly—Hannah identified what he was going through in an instant.

_A panic attack._

“Where’s Dani?”

“How should I know?”

“Where’s Dani? Is she upstairs? I must speak with her immediately.”

“I believe she is in Austria for work today, _mimmo._ What’s happened?” Vhelade kept her voice steady but Hannah could sense the urgency that lay beneath.

Blaise hesitated. All of his focus seemed to be on sucking enough air into his lungs.

“Blaise, what’s happened?”

“...Warden Umbridge is dead.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> And so, the plot begins! Thank you for your very kind continued feedback on this work, it means the world to me. 
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

As soon as the phrase left Blaise’s lips, it was followed by the sound of shattered china. Marie broke an expensive-looking gold-rimmed plate in her reaction to the news. Riley, with an anxious expression on her face, appeared in the kitchen behind Blaise.

“Dolores is dead?” Vhelade spoke in a dazed tone. She stood suddenly and swayed unsteadily on her feet. Marie hurried over to her mistress to steady her and guided her back into her sitting position.

“During the speech. I was behind her.” Blaise looked up into his mother’s face, but Hannah noticed how his eyes darted to her face for the briefest second. He had striking yet unnerving eyes: dark brown with two thin rings of chartreuse around the pupil and the edge of the iris. They were familiar and strange at the same time. As he explicitly looked at the hole in her head, the briefest shadow of emotion flashed through them before his face became unreadable again. Hannah’s shaking worsened.

“Is the blood yours?”

“Not injured.” Blaise shook his head and stood. Vhelade sighed in relief.

“The locket…?”

Blaise gave a curt nod.

Vhelade looked like she was about to faint, but she quickly rallied her internal turmoil and began to bark out orders.

“Riley, take Hannah away. Show her the glasshouse and _keep her busy_. For Merlin’s sake, Blaise, go change into something clean. Marie, burn his robes and scourge his shoes. I’ll go strengthen the blood wards on the estate.” She hesitated before extending her hand. “You wand is American elm and dragon heartstring, correct?”

“Yes.”

“What dragon breed?”

“Chinese Fireball.”

“That will work. Give it here.”

Blaise fished out a long wand of white wood with golden grain from his robes. The entire length of the wand was stained with wet blood. Vhelade took it without another moment of hesitation, adjusted her hand position, and gave the wand a rusty swish and flick. A silvery-white male peacock with his tail proudly fanned out poured out of its tip and waited expectantly for directions.

“Daphne, Marie caught the stray cat that kept killing my miniature cockatrices. Come home immediately. I need your help disposing of it.”

The peacock cocked his head as if it took a minute to absorb the message, folded his tail, spread his wings, and took to the air. As soon as he disappeared, Hannah felt a small hand wrap around her wrist. With a soft pop, the scenery around her changed from the enclosed and rather cozy kitchen to a large structure made of black iron and wide glass panes.

Apparating with a house-elf was better than with a human, but it still was a terrible sensation on her poor body. Hannah took big gulps of fresh air as she leaned over and rested her hands on her knees.

“Many apologies, Miss Hufflepuff. Riley panicked. Will go through the fireplace next time,” Riley squeaked. She pressed her pointer finger to Hannah’s temple and relieved her nausea after a quick pinprick of pain pressed into her skin. After Hannah was dealt with, Riley scurried about, casting spells this way and that without any apparent logic to the order.

The Spanish tiles underneath Hannah’s bare feet were cold though the greenhouse felt heated. The glass ceiling above her head opened up to a pale blue sky dotted with altocumulus clouds. She felt suddenly exposed to the world.

Riley came back into the section of the greenhouse that Hannah stood frozen in and looked at her curiously. “The contents of the greenhouse are concealed from the outside world, Miss. No one can see Riley and Miss in here.”

“Excellent,” Hannah whispered. Riley summoned a pair of cheap orange flip-flops and offered them to Hannah without a word. Hannah accepted them with a quiet word of thanks and slipped them on.

“Follow Riley, Miss,” Riley said with confidence. “Riley will give Miss Hufflepuff a tour.”

Calling it a “tour” was generous, to put it mildly. The greenhouse was sectioned off with sheets of green plastic into three rooms. The first two rooms were for Blaise (one room for “bushes” and the other for “trees,” as Riley put it), but were mostly empty save for bags of seeds and soil haphazardly strewn about. One set of shelves in the second room was lined with row after row of individually potted plants that resembled ghost plants ( _Monotropa uniflora_ ). Instead of white stalks and pale pink leaves, these plants were pale grey with lavender on the undersides of their young leaves. They swayed gently from side to side instead of staying static. Hannah nor Riley had an idea as to what species they could be. 

“And this, Miss Hufflepuff, is your section,” Riley exclaimed proudly as she pulled back the plastic that led to the third room. Hannah clapped her hand over her mouth in utter surprise at what she saw. It was smaller than the previous two rooms, but the entire end of the greenhouse was sectioned off for her. Three parallel raised beds and two display benches were to her left. To her right, the rest of the room was completely lined with bare wire racks except for where a small alcove was built into the greenhouse. An elegantly carved and well-loved wooden potting bench that was completely stocked with seedling trays, fertilizer, and other necessities was built into the alcove.

Through the glass, Hannah saw that her view looked onto a beautiful red brick courtyard lined with winterberry bushes, baneberry trees, and holly trees. All of the red berries looked lovely and deadly against the waxy dark green leaves. In the center of the courtyard stood a copper fountain, now covered in a green patina. It was comprised of a beautiful woman pouring out libations of gold-tinted water into the pool below. The statue paused every so often to wipe imaginary sweat off of her forehead before going back to her single duty. Instead of human hands and feet, the woman had the fore- and hind-paws of a cat with sharp claws.

“Who does Hannah Hufflepuff suppose that lady to be?”

“I don’t know. Who is it?”

“One of the _donas de fuera_. A kind of…Italian fairy, Riley thinks. The elder Mistress Zabini’s family claims that their first matriarch was one of their kind.”

Hannah nodded and took a second look. Now that she paid attention to the statue in the fountain’s face, its resemblance to Vhelade’s was uncanny.

“Riley wonders if Miss would like to explore her greenhouse room by herself? Riley must help the elder Mistress with wards around the house. Miss is safe here.”

“Sure, that’s alright.”

“Riley hopes Miss likes her plant room! Master and the younger Mistress Zabini worked very hard on cleaning and organizing it.”

“Thank you, Riley.”

Riley smiled and disappeared without a sound. Hannah sighed loudly and turned around to survey her surroundings again. For most of her life, Hannah loved introspective time alone. She _craved_ it during the war, when she was constantly surrounded by her former classmates and the other resistance fighters. But now…

Hannah stopped thinking for just long enough to walk over to the potting bench. She took deliberate inventory of the items on the potting bench to distract her from continuing her mental process.

Twelve seed trays.

Six bags of potting soil.

Three bags of all-purpose fertilizer.

One packet of Pink Plume celery seeds.

Nine packets of Parisian cucumber seeds.

Two packets of Yukon Gold potato seeds.

Five packets of Rainbow Blend carrot seeds.

Eight packets of Cherokee Purple heirloom tomato seeds.

After recounting all of the seed packets at least four times each, Hannah laid them all out in rows on top of the potting bench. She wondered if these were leftover seeds from Blaise’s ‘fall harvest.’

A gardening shovel hung by a leather strap off of a hook on the edge of the potting bench. Hannah reached for it. With a yelp of pain, she jerked her hand back when the familiar burning sensation erupted into her fingers. Hannah blinked back tears at the realization that she’d have to use a regular kitchen spoon for _everything_ if she wanted to do any gardening by herself.

Now…if she didn’t have a task or company to distract herself with, all of the negative emotions leaked back into her conscious mind. She turned away from the potting bench and surveyed every single shelf. She twisted her copper manacles around and around as she searched high and low to see if she missed any inventory on the shelves. The manacles drove her crazy. Hannah briefly entertained the thought of asking Dani if she could help her relieve the itching before wisely chickening out.

 _Umbridge._ The name slipped into her forethought.

Hannah busied herself with soil moisture checks in the raised beds. Once she got to the third bed nearest to the wall, she could conceal the recollection no longer. She fell to her knees and stuck both arms into the soil up to her biceps.

_“Be still.”_

Hannah only made it to two floors below the one she was imprisoned on at Hogwarts before the peace officers caught her. She’d managed to destroy the lock on her cell door by gradually building up magic into her iron manacles and letting them explode around her wrists. She was amazed that she had managed to pull that feat off successfully and remembered the sheer feeling of victory that emanated through her frame. The booming sound and the dripping blood from the resulting wounds were what made her stupidly easy to track. They dragged her back kicking and screaming within twenty minutes. Umbridge gave Hannah a bored look while the guards relayed her escape attempt.

 _“Such a pity. You weren’t academically gifted, Hannah, but you always were such a kind student,"_ Umbridge said as she used the tip of her wand to trace Hannah’s facial features—her eyebrows, her nose, her lips. One guard held Hannah down and another put her into a headlock. They were too strong for her to even move a centimeter.

_“People like you are quite easy to manipulate. Stupid girl.”_

Umbridge jabbed her black wand into the inside corner of Hannah’s eye. Hannah screamed as the warden twisted it and pulled, causing her eye to pop out of the socket millimeter by millimeter over what must have been at least ten minutes of start and stop. Umbridge's smile got wider and wider until Hannah’s eye hung limply out of her head by the optic nerve. Hannah’s vision in her affected eye was distorted and fuzzy until Hannah heard a ripping of flesh and her sight went black all together. When the guards let her go, Hannah put her hand up to her face and felt nothing but warm liquid and the interior of her orbital ridge. Hannah dared to stick her pointer finger into the hole and press it against the muscles behind where her eyeball should be, all while screaming hysterically. She fainted shortly after from the shock, only to come to with healed wrists and horrible depth perception due to only one working eye. They locked the copper manacles around Hannah's wrists a couple days later. Umbridge got away with a slap on the wrist from Bellatrix Lestrange and no dire consequences for the torture Hannah endured. She switched to severing fingers after that, a punishment that inner circle Death Eaters happily turned a blind eye to.

 _Umbridge, you stupid bitch,_ Hannah thought angrily. She squeezed her eye shut and tried to picture the woman’s face. _You better be dead. If you aren’t, I’ll come and disembowel you myself. If you are, I’ll dig up your casket by hand and take your cranium as a trophy. Someday._

An intense rush of mental relief came over Hannah then. She rested her cheek on the plastic edge of the raised bed. She grabbed fistfuls of submerged soil and let her tears trickle out and onto the earth. The soil was at the perfect level of moisture for vegetables and that fact made her want to cry even harder for some reason.

_I’m so tired._

“Hannah?”

_I don’t want to do this anymore._

“Hannah?”

Hannah sat up. Someone had Apparated into the greenhouse.

 _They can kill me, for all I care._ Hannah balked at the intrusive thought and quickly corrected it. _No—I must survive at all costs. I’ve gotten this far. I must keep going until my body gives out._

“Yes?” Hannah called out, sniffling. Her voice cracked horribly.

In walked a tall man in black joggers and a grey cable knit sweater. He was barefoot. His hair appeared to be freshly washed and was still a bit wet. In his muscular arms, the young man precariously juggled four disgruntled red Cobra Lilies in separate terracotta pots. Their little heads were covered in miniature black hoods, as they should be according to proper handling protocol, but they shifted and weaved about in a way that indicated that they _really_ wanted to take a bite out of their handler as soon as they got the chance.

“Hannah, would you mind lending me a hand?” Blaise asked, with a polite and guarded smile on his face. He avoided eye contact with her as he focused on the plants that he carried. “These four beauties need their monthly leaf trim. I’ve found that they prefer the hands of a woman to do it. No idea as to why, but they calm down when Dani helps me. After that, I need some help transferring my mum’s huge peace lily into a new pot with fresh soil. Would you be up for that task as well? Shouldn’t take too long.”

His horrible eyes flitted back again to her empty eye socket and his entire expression changed. Hannah’s trembling began anew.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> I can't believe its almost mid-January! Stay safe out there, in all capacities. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

Blaise hurried over to the potting bench and set down the upset lilies before coming back over to Hannah. She didn’t move her head from where it rested on the edge of the raised garden bed. Grabbing more handfuls of submerged soils and squeezing them tightly, Hannah imagined that she had the strength to squeeze pure water from the rotting organics. From her poor peripheral vision, Hannah watched Blaise sit down cross-legged across from her on the other side of the garden bed.

“I—I can’t hold pruning shears,” Hannah hiccupped. “The manacles prevent it.”

“Oh,” Blaise said with no apparent emotion. He leaned against the glass-paned wall of the greenhouse.

“I’m sorry—I would love to help you if I could.” Hannah wiped her dripping nose in sheer embarrassment.

His eyes bore into the top of her head. This was all too much all at once.

“No, no. It’s fine. Completely fine. I should’ve known.”

In response to his lack of anger, Hannah managed to take the briefest glance at the man across from her, just long enough to drag her eyes across his features. The resemblance that he held to his mother was unmistakable, but his skin bore warm coppery undertones in comparison to his mother’s subtle cool silver undertones.

Blaise definitely _looked_ like the vain heartbreaker that Hannah could kind of remember, there was no doubt about that. The only difference was his hair. He now wore his hair in waves paired with a low fade instead of his signature buzz cut and angular line up that he had in school. 

Blaise Zabini was one of the three “untouchable” boys in Slytherin—nice to look at but not worth shagging unless a girl wanted a compromised social reputation within the House of Hufflepuff. Hannah could recall him walking down the halls with his fellow untouchables Nott and Malfoy, but she never remembered anything other than a stoic expression. The way he looked at her now, with undeniable concern etched into his face, was utterly alien and unexpected. Hannah didn’t know what to do.

Blaise cleared his throat and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the other edge of the raised bed. With a flourish, he offered his opened palms to Hannah. He had large hands with tapered fingers and well-manicured nails.

“Daphne told me that I have to touch your manacles for them to reassign to our estate. I came in here primarily to do that. Can I see them?” He adopted a more standoffish and professional tone this time. Gone was the strange excited familiarity.

Hannah’s eye flitted to the inside of his left forearm. He didn’t have a visible Dark Mark.

“I’m not a Death Eater, Hannah,” Blaise said, the kind of gentleness that one would use with a scared child or frightened pet leaking into his voice. He produced his left forearm more visibly to her so that she could get a good long look. “Daphne is enough of one for both of us.” 

With some reluctance, Hannah pulled her arms out of the dirt. Her skin was streaked with the rich black earth, but the damn manacles managed to stay impeccably clean as always.

Blaise was careful to not touch her skin as he handled the manacles. He twisted them around until the words “Property of” faced upwards and pressed his thumbs over the blank spaces. Hannah sharply inhaled through her teeth as the uncomfortably warming sensation emanated up her forearms. As he pressed his thumbs down with more strength, the prominent veins in his forearms bulged. After thirty seconds or so, Blaise withdrew his hands and tucked them into his armpits. Hannah and Blaise watched as “Blaise Zabini” in cursive became etched into the metal letter by letter. After the last “i” was dotted, the warmth ebbed away and the metal grew cool again.

“I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable for you?” He struggled to keep professional and his inflection rose in pitch at the end of the question.

“I am fine, thank you.” Hannah said as she tried to scrape off the dirt off of her arms with her fingernails, keeping herself from having to look into Blaise’s face.

Blaise gave a curt nod and ran a hand over his hair. An uneasy silence hung in the air between them before Blaise spoke again.

“Give me your arms.” Blaise reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a different wand than the one he gave his mother. This one was elegantly carved out of a purple wood and covered in runes. It looked unlike any Ollivander wand Hannah could ever recall seeing.

_Could it be a Gregorovitch wand?_

With no room to disobey, Hannah held her arms out as steady as she could. With a tap of his wand across her inner forearms, Blaise uttered “Tergeo.” The wet soil pulled away from her arms in two thin sheets and, with a quick flick of his wand in his left hand, was deposited back into the gardening bed. Her skin tingled with the magical contact.

“There,” Blaise said coolly.

“Thank you.” It was unsettling, being treated kindly by this man.

“And here.” He conjured a plain white handkerchief and offered it to Hannah. She took it from him with a nod of gratitude and noisily blew her nose into it. He pocketed the wand and let his eyes wander over her face again, again with a focus on the empty eye socket. Hannah channeled her energy into drying her cheek with her handkerchief in a manner that she hoped came across as demure.

“Daphne and I will discuss what to do with your…eye situation as soon as we can.”

Hannah nodded politely. “Thank you.”

“When is your next fertility window?”

“Five days.”

Blaise sighed. Hannah watched him make a mental note of his required appointments. He looked extremely tired as he ran a hand down his face.

“I wish you had more time to adjust to our home before... _you know_.”

Hannah shrugged. She was numb. Completely numb. Emotions and thoughts directed towards her surrogate duties were a waste of time that she didn’t have much of to begin with.

“In the meantime, I hope you explore some. Did Daphne or my mum tell you about where you may go on the estate without an escort?”

“I was told that I could go freely between the kitchen and my cabin?” The concept of _anything_ being hers was still dream-like. The thought caused a thrill to shiver down her spine.

“If you get permission from the house elves prior to, the main house’s first floor is also yours to wander about. Even though I—er, Riley pulled out most of the books we thought you’d like for your cabin, the Greengrass library and archives are also available for your use.”

 _A library._ It was almost as exciting as a greenhouse to her ears.

“Thank you.”

Blaise gave a curt nod and rubbed his chin. The lilies began emitting little muffled shrieks in the distance, interrupting their conversation. Blaise sighed again, and with an old man groan that Hannah suppressed a smile at, gradually got up to his feet. He walked over to the potting bench and opened its drawers to fish around for something important. Hannah, undeniably curious, stood and followed Blaise silently over with her handkerchief tightly balled into her right fist. She stood away from him at a generous distance.

The drawers of the potting bench that Hannah had decided against exploring earlier were almost as messy at the top of it had been. Blaise managed to find one more packet of potato seeds—these being pink-streaked Early Rose potatoes, another American Muggle heirloom variety that Hannah wasn’t familiar with—and two packets of gillyweed seeds. He took care to lay out the seeds in the same manner that Hannah had the other seed packets in. As Hannah watched him sort through the mess, she noted how expressive his eyebrows were.

“I will make sure that Riley cleans this up for you,” Blaise mumbled, finally acknowledging Hannah’s presence beside him.

“I would like that very much.”

After more rummaging, Blaise found the supplies he’d been looking for in the back of the bottom drawer—two pairs of dragon-hide gloves and a delicate pair of silver pruning shears—with a quiet but triumphant “Ah ha!”

Blaise held out the gloves to Hannah. “If you can’t handle tools, would you be willing to supervise me?”

Hannah nodded and took the gloves from Blaise. Much to her relief, the manacles didn’t register the thick gloves as a threat. She pulled the gloves over them with some difficulty.

“Ready?” Blaise asked. He pushed the three smaller angrily weaving lilies to the back of the potting bench and set the largest one to the front. Sure enough, the leafy spikes along the spine of the snake-like portion of the flower were too long and needed a good cropping. Hannah reached far back into her hazy memory bank for what she knew about the care and keeping of these temperamental plants. 

“Before you take the hood off, what should I hum?”

“Hum what?”

Sweat began to bead on Hannah’s upper lip. “Cobra Lilies can be calmed by humming or singing while they are pruned, right? The Welsh variety are, at least.” 

“Oh? I’ve never read about that the care guides I’ve referenced.”

“Fifth Year Herbology. I volunteered on an optional research project on conscious plants with animalistic traits. From my experience, it’s a pretty successful trick.”

“I don’t remember a project like that.”

“…I think Sprout offered it to only a few select students.”

“Mm.” 

Hannah shifted her weight from foot to foot in the abrupt cutoff of conversation. She couldn’t tell him about Sprout’s outspoken dislike of the Slytherin students that she taught that year, an opinion she shared only with Hufflepuff students in her utmost confidence.

“We hummed songs by Spellbound. Do you know of them?”

Blaise shook his head. He turned the terracotta pot around so that the head of the flower faced the back of the potting bench.

“They’re an all-witch band that sings mostly ballads. The songs are a bit difficult to hum, but nothing I can’t manage.”

“Worth a shot. You can try it if you’d like.”

Hannah steadied herself, cleared her throat, and began to hum the only song she remembered from that murky period of her life: “ _Howe Good Nurse Martin Went Wildes_.” It was a narrative ballad that Hannah remembered thinking was particularly tasteless in content but with a catchy chorus. The swaying of the lilies stopped. Blaise removed the hood and the plant’s little head drooped in a manner resembling a little kid asleep on his mother’s lap while on a train. Blaise was able to pinch the docile flower’s neck and quickly snip off the spines without being snapped at. Hannah knew how nasty a bite from one of those plants could be, how the skin went bright orange and swelled miserably. Poor Faye Dunbar.

After Blaise replaced the leather hood on the largest, they repeated the same procedure on the other three. Hannah repeated her squeaky humming of that same song at least four times.

After they finished, Blaise stepped back and admired the four neatly trimmed Cobra Lilies with an air of satisfaction. They seemed content based on how their long leaves furled and unfurled in a mannerism that reminded Hannah of a happy cat kneading on a soft pillow.

“The singing would explain why they liked Daphne so much. She always has a Celestina Warbeck song stuck in her head.” The corner of Blaise’s mouth threatened to turn up until he made a conscious effort to suppress it.

“That would make sense. If I may ask, what variety are these four?” Hannah couldn’t help but ask. They were completely unlike the dull green and yellow ones that she worked with at Hogwarts. Instead, they were a brilliant crimson with black-tipped leaves and mustard yellow eyespots.

“Moroccan Desert Reds. Mum brought the largest one back for me as a souvenir from one of her business trips in 1992.”

“You were handling _Cobra Lillies_ in our Second Year?” Hannah asked in shocked surprise.

“I got her,” Blaise said, referring to the largest lily, “as a seedling for a Halloween present. She managed to survive under my bed until I could sneak her out of Hogwarts for Christmas break. Mum’s never really understood plants, so I guess she didn’t see the harm in sending me a venomous one at twelve years old.”

“You were very lucky.”

“That I was. But even if I were found out, no one would’ve dared snitch on me.”

Hannah chose to not continue line of discussion and instead took another look at the largest lily. She’d never heard of anyone who managed to keep a Cobra Lily alive for almost _thirteen_ whole years. With a thick wooden stem and leaves with trimmed away wear at the tips, the plant certainly showed her age. Quite an impressive feat.

“Where’d you get the other three?”

“I grew them from cuttings that I harvested from the oldest one. One of the first projects I started after the war.”

“Hm.”

“…Did Longbottom teach you that? The humming, I mean.” Blaise asked the question causally, but Hannah could hear in the manner in which he spoke it that it’d been on his mind and that was he cautiously eager to know the answer.

Hannah felt intense heat rise in her cheeks and she gave a slight nod. Blaise said nothing, but Hannah could see how he tightly set his jaw as a response.

“…If it’s a Longbottom-approved method, I suppose I should memorize some Blodwyn Bludd arias and see if they like my singing voice too.”

“That sounds like a worthwhile experiment.”

“I’d also like to try getting you plastic Muggle gardening tools. Seeing if you can handle those without issue.”

“Yet another worthwhile experiment, I agree.”

This time, Blaise failed to hide the quirk in the corner of his mouth. Hannah tried her best to smile back. She felt on _edge_ around this man, but he hadn’t given her any cause to worry so far. Talking about Herbology, though, that felt fairly safe. She hoped it would stay that way.

Their fragile moment of good-natured humor was shattered by a black hooded figure Apparating into the room with a wand at the ready in their hand. Blaise stepped between Hannah and the intruder and pointed his purple wand at their head.

“Galloping Galleons, Blaise,” the stranger cried as they ripped off their mask and pulled off their hood. “Lower your wand.”

Blaise obeyed, but didn’t move from where he stood.

“Why the hell are you in here playing gardener with the surrogate?” Dani’s face was green and her wispy hair stuck out at odd angles. She had the beginning of a black eye. “Snape is investigating all attendees at Hogwarts this morning. I received word he's travelling all the way back from Romania to do so. The High—” Dani stopped herself. She looked over to Hannah with nothing but pure panic in her eyes. “Hannah, go back to your cabin. Don’t leave that building until one of us calls for you. Riley will attend to you until then.”

Hannah stiffened.

“…Yes, ma’am.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> One of my favorite things to do while writing in the Harry Potter universe is to go onto the wiki and find really obscure stuff to incorporate into my stories. Always a fun exercise in world building. Enjoy!
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

Hannah spent the next four days in the cabin. It wasn’t too dreadful, she supposed. During that time, Riley and Hannah embarked on a journey to figure out how Hannah could manage to write down letters and notes to herself. Despite their best efforts, almost every single quill, ballpoint pen, and writing utensil within Greengrass estate managed to burn her hands. They finally found success with a stubby little thing of wood and graphite called a “golf pencil.” When Hannah wrote out her own shaky signature on a piece of provided parchment scrap, she nearly cried with joy.

It soon became evident that Riley was told to keep consistent tabs on Hannah at all costs. She’d pop in and out throughout the day with meals, snacks, books, and even Muggle puzzles to keep Hannah entertained.

On the fourth day, Hannah sat in front of the fire as the rain began to come down. During her exploration of the cabin’s interior, she discovered that the ceiling was covered in decorative tin tiles that were painted black. Based on the sound of the rain hitting the room, she now wondered if the cabin’s roof was also made of tin. Either way, it made for a nice ambiance when combined with the crackling fire.

Before she woke, the house-elves replaced the Bluebell flames with a legitimate orange fire that emitted heat. Osiris seemed to love it, for he let out little satisfied-sounding chirps and croaks as he sat in it. Hannah came to love the little guy by the second day of sitting alone in the cabin. She unabashedly spent two hours that morning watching him.

Hannah tried to meditate. She focused all of her attention either at the dancing flames or at a locked bottom drawer of an oak chest that was built into the wall across from her bed. It was the only thing that was made inaccessible to Hannah in the cabin interior. She spent way too much of her free time during the previous two days searching for the skeleton key to open it. Despite her frustration, she was secretly grateful for a simple task to chase away the ghosts of her past.

Hannah heard a house-elf Apparate into the room behind her. Hannah looked over her shoulder to find Riley waiting for her expectantly. The house-elf balanced a painted wooden tray that held a personal silver teapot of hot water, a blue and white china teacup, an assortment of fancy silk teabags, milk, white sugar cubes, and homemade blueberry scones.

“Riley brings Miss Hufflepuff her afternoon tea.”

“Thank you, Riley.”

Riley hesitated as to where to put it.

“Just set it on the ground here,” Hannah said as she patted the floor beside her. Riley did so. As the house-elf was about to Disapparate, Hannah called out to her.

“Wait.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Stay. Have some tea with me.” Hannah bit the inside of her cheek, presumptively assuming an outright rejection.

The house-elf wavered with her hands balled up in her checkered apron.

“Please—if you have time. I’d like to have someone to talk to. One can read about mooncalves and make flower sketches for only so long.”

Riley looked uneasy as she slid down into a W-sitting position on the wooden floor.

“Scone?”

Riley shook her head.

“Tea?

Riley thought about the offer for a moment and conjured up a jade green elf-sized teacup. Hannah studied her available teas.

“Do you like oolong tea?”

The house-elf nodded. Hannah opened the teabag and set it to steep in the hot water.

“What would Miss like to know?”

Hannah took a bite of scone and pondered the question, having jumped into this endeavor with no game plan.

“Tell me about anything you want.”

“Riley asks Miss to be more specific.”

Hannah cringed inwardly and said the first thing that came to her mind. “Do you like serving the Zabinis?”

The house-elf thought about it for a little while as she ran her pointer fingertip around and around the rim of her conjured cup.

“Does Miss Hufflepuff remember S.P.E.W.? The Potter’s Mudblood’s house-elf rights group.”

Hannah dimly remembered righteous Hermione, face red with cold, promoting her group in her Gryffindor scarf on the streets of Hogsmeade during their Fourth Year. Her hair was still big and bushy then.

“A bit, I guess.”

“S.P.E.W. inspired the younger Mistress Zabini to free the Greengrass-serving elves upon her inheritance of her family estate. All thanks to the Mudblood,” Riley said with a bitter half-smile. “Riley is the only one left.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“Riley is the Greengrass nanny elf. Riley raised the past four generations of Greengrasses, including the young Mistress Zabini. Riley loves Mistress. Leaving Mistress alone scares Riley more than the return of another evil wizard. So Riley stays.”

“That’s very…noble of you.”

“Riley is not noble. Riley is practical.”

“Your name is very unusual for a house-elf, I noticed. Where does it come from?”

“Riley used to be Ripsy. Mistress said Riley must use a human name and wear fitted clothing if Riley continued serving. Riley is happy with these changes. No longer compared to the Malfoy nurse elf,” Riley huffed. “‘Topsy’ this, ‘Topsy’ that…no more. Riley is grateful.”

“I never had a house-elf,” Hannah responded as she checked the teapot and pulled out the teabag. “I always suspected that my family had some at one point, but my father never told me.” She nonverbally beckoned for Riley’s teacup, accepted it, and filled it. Riley took it with uncertainty, eyeing Hannah somewhat suspiciously.

Hannah poured her own cup and took the first sip, scalding her entire tongue in the process. She put on a complacent face and swallowed. Riley, satisfied, took a gulp of tea and swallowed loudly.

“The Abbotts had twelve elves when Riley was a young elf.”

“Really?”

“Miss Hufflepuff’s great-grandfather gave all twelve to the Malfoy family as part of his eldest daughter’s dowry before going to live in that Muggle town of his. But to answer Miss’ question, yes. Riley likes the Zabinis. They are tidy and create little work for Riley. Riley even likes haughty Marie.”

“Is ‘Marie’ her birth name?”

“Yes. Italian elves are named at birth by their masters.”

“Interesting. I never knew that.” Hannah knew or remembered very little about the magical worlds of other countries, now that she really thought about it.

Riley’s face was still screwed up in thought. “…What is the name of the town Miss Hufflepuff was born in? ‘Am’-something, Riley thinks?”

“Ammanford.”

“Ammanford,” Riley repeated, testing the foreign word on her lips. “Strange Muggle name.”

 _No stranger than most Wizarding names,_ Hannah thought with an internal smile. “It is a strange name, but it is a wonderful little town.”

“What’s so wonderful about it?”

Hannah pulled her knees up to her chest and thought about the question with strained effort. She focused on Osiris happily perched on a charred log and soaking up the heat and energy in the fire’s middle. “Everyone was very friendly, yeah? When I was a little girl, my mum and I would frequent this place called the Red Kite Inn. I loved the desserts there—they served _ten_ types of cheesecake. The owner was a Squib that Mum grew up with.”

“The Travers Squib.”

“You knew him?”

“Riley knew _of_ Mr. Travers, yes. Never met him. Riley has never travelled outside of the Wizarding world.”

“Ah. Well, he was one of the first people I knew outside of my family who was aware of wizards and witches. Because I didn’t show any magic ability until I was nine and a half, my parents thought I might also be a Squib. Introducing him to me early was part of their plan to make me feel more normal.”

“Miss Hufflepuff’s parents must be very kind.”

“That they were. Do you know what happened to Mr. Travers?”

“The High Reeve executed the Travers Squib three months ago.”

Hannah rested her head on her knee. The news was a tiny needle-like strike through her heart, but she wasn’t surprised. Henry Travers’ estranged brother was a well-respected Death Eater.

“Riley is very sorry to bring Miss Hufflepuff the terrible news,” Riley said apologetically after taking another gulp of tea.

"Was it the Killing Curse?" 

"Yes, Miss." 

A sick sort of relief went through Hannah at the news. _At least it was quick._

“I presumed that to be the case. One cannot bring back the dead, as much as we’d like to…do you think any of the former Abbott house-elves are still alive?”

“Master Lucius Malfoy used them all as target practice during the first wizarding war.”

Twelve more tiny strikes embedded themselves to Hannah’s heart. She locked her hands around her knees by grasping one of her forearms right above her manacle tightly.

“Riley is only telling the truth, Miss.”

“I know…I hoped that if one was alive so that I’d be able to ask them questions about my family. My dad never told me much about the Abbotts.”

“Riley knows,” the house-elf sniffed. “Miss Hufflepuff needs to do research.”

“Could you help me? With acquiring books and old papers and such.” Hannah brightened a bit at the new prospect, resting her head to the other side to look at Riley. “I want to learn about _all_ of the Pureblood families at this point—even the ones outside of the Twenty-Eight. It feels…important to have more knowledge about the life that my future children will live.” The last part was a bit of a lie because Hannah didn’t want to overstep her boundaries.

Riley pondered the question while sipping on the last of the tea remaining in her cup. “Riley will ask Master Zabini.”

“Thank you.”

Riley shrugged off the gratitude and vanished away her dirty teacup.

“Master Zabini expects Miss in the second floor parlor tomorrow afternoon at 17:00. He also wanted Miss to know that Healer Stroud will drop by tomorrow morning at 10:00. Miss must be dressed in her uniform at least a full hour prior to in case the estate receives an early visit.”

Hannah nodded and Riley left. The house-elf visited Hannah only once more that evening to remove the dirty dishes and bring her a generous and well-seasoned dinner of baked chicken, oven-roasted purple asparagus, and mashed yams.

***

Dani visited Hannah that night, right as Hannah was about to finally fall asleep after thirty minutes of restlessly turning about in bed. It was easy to sleep the first night there, when everything here was new and shiny and Hannah was _exhausted_ , but four whole days in the cabin with too many naps and only a house-elf for sporadic company was not conducive to a good state of mental health for her. Her insomniac tendencies from the war threatened to reemerge.

When Hannah heard the soft popping noise of someone entering the room, Osiris began squeaking loudly.

“Shh, baby. Everything is alright, I promise. Go back to sleep,” Dani’s voice crooned to the panicked salamander. Her words settled him down in an instant and Osirus went quiet.

Hannah shifted slightly to have her visitor in her obscured line of vision from where she laid on the bed. Her blood ran cold at what she saw. Upon Dani’s head sat a rack of imposing twelve point antlers akin to those of a bull elk's. Strips of velvet hung from the tines. Dani had to support them upright with her hands. When she removed her hands to fiddle around with her robes, her head slumped forward uncomfortably. Dani unbuttoned her dark Death Eater uniform robes and shrugged them off of her shoulders as she walked, letting them gather in a pile in front of the fireplace. She wore a simple white shift underneath that was torn and stained with brown soil and clay.

“Hannah, I’m sorry to bother at this late hour,” Dani said quietly while she steadied an antler with one hand.

Hannah’s heart leapt up into her throat upon the realization that Dani _knew_ she was awake. Hannah sat up in bed. She watched Dani squat in front of the mysterious chest with the locked drawer.

“You don’t have to help. You may go back to sleep.”

“No—no, I must. Can I support those up for you?” Hannah asked, becoming self-aware at the level of concern in her voice.

“…If you’re able to hold them, yeah.”

Hannah got out of bed and came over while Dani supported the rank with both hands. She hesitantly touched an antler tine. It wasn’t smooth like true elk or deer antlers. It felt like a dry human long bone, almost chalky against her fingernails. To her great surprise, no burning sensation resulted under her touch.

“Can you hold them?”

“Yeah—I wonder if it’s because they’re still connected to you,” Hannah pondered. Hannah delicately replaced Dani’s handholds with her own as Dani let go. With an exhale of relief, Dani pulled a skeleton key from around her neck and attempted to put the key in the drawer’s lock. Her hand shook horribly, but after she steadied it with her other hand around her wrist, she managed to put it in and twist it. The drawer opened with a satisfying click and Dani pulled it open.

Inside were dozens of folded linens, but at the very back sat a long tin blue box. Dani grabbed the box and shut the drawer again. Inside the box was gauze, numerous labelled potion bottles and vials, and a folded Muggle handsaw. Dani shakily pulled out five bottles of potion and lined them up at her feet.

“Do you want me to open those for you?”

“Yes, please.”

Dani replaced Hannah’s handholds while Hannah reached down and opened each potion, lining them up as they were prior to. Hannah’s eye flickered down to Dani’s arm. Her Dark Mark was midnight black and raised. Numerous long scratches trailed down both arms.

“Best thing about these antlers? They’re still connected to my nervous system,” Dani laughed dryly. After Hannah steadied the antlers again, Dani tipped the first two potions back into her mouth. They smelled of mulled wine and charcoal.

“…Anteoculatia?”

Dani grunted affirmatively and sucked down the third potion that smelled of raspberries and vanilla. She nearly dropped the bottle in her hand as another series of tremors ran through it. After she swallowed, she picked up the handsaw and managed to click it open. “Don’t tell Blaise. _Please._ He cannot know that they used this spell.”

”I won’t.”

“Good.” Dani adjusted her hair, brought the saw up to her right antler, and began unsteadily sawing at the base.

“Should we call for a house-elf?”

“ _No._ Merlin, _no._ Don’t tell the house-elves or Vhelade.”

“Okay.”

“Swear on it.”

“I swear.”

“On your life.”

“I swear on my life that I won’t tell anyone about the antlers.”

“Good.”

As Dani sawed, her blood from the open wound now on her head began to stain her light hair.

“You can’t use a spell…?”

“Have to saw them off manually. If…if healers get involved, the dark magic in the cores will circulate faster through my body.”

Dani snapped off the first antler at the base with a faint uncomfortable cry and placed it on the floor next to her. Blood from the coronet pooled underneath and puddled on the floor.

“Can’t worry anyone with something this trivial. They’re all I have. Blaise, Vhelade...you, soon I hope,” Dani said with a crestfallen smile as she positioned the saw at the base of the second antler and began sawing. “Astoria too, as much as I hate to admit it. There’s something...irreplaceable about blood for me. Both of our parents have passed on. She’s the only sibling I have. I—I would walk through the Veil and back for her.”

“Can we stanch this blood?” Hannah’s focus was still on the bleeding fleshy stump where the left antler was attached.

“Just use one of the linens if you’re so inclined.” Dani paused in her task and pulled out her wand in her bloodstained hand to nonverbally flick a linen up from the drawer up into the air. Hannah grabbed it and pressed it against Dani’s head with one hand while supporting the right antler in the other.

Dani resumed without another word. Right before she broke off the second antler, she spoke. “Hannah, I—I want to apologize for calling you...the s-word yesterday.”

“The ‘s-word’?”

“You know. _Surrogate._ ” She said it in a hushed tone. “I have no excuse for saying it in such an inappropriate manner.”

“ _Oh._ ” Hannah completely forgot. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my job after all, isn’t it?”

“You’re more than just your job.” Dani mustered the courage to snap off the second antler at the base and set it down beside her. Hannah saw in the dim light of the fire how Dani stifled down her pain as the fresh blood flowed down her forehead.

“…You can let it out if you need to.”

The dam broke loose.

“Bloody fucking hell! I’ll kill that cocksucking blond twat with my bare hands!” Dani continued to alternate between wordless screams and vague insults as she guzzled down the fourth potion. Hannah used the linen to stop the bleeding with her palms pressed over both wounds.

“Move your hands, Hannah.” Dani grabbed for the gauze and generously doused the fifth potion onto it. Hannah obeyed and assisted Dani in binding up her head.

When Dani was satisfied with the job accomplished, she scoured her blood away from Hannah’s person and began cleaning up the mess.

“You know, Hannah,” Dani began quietly as she vanished the antlers, “for tomorrow…we can get you a Sleeping Draught—even Draught of Living Death if you want it.”

“No, I’ll manage.”

“I could be there too, if you’d like the support.”

“It’s up to you if you’d like to be there. I have no control over that matter.”

“Do you want _anything?_ ”

Hannah concealed a sad smile. “Just a Calming Draught or a Draught of Peace, if you have one on hand. Don’t go out and brew or buy one if you don’t have it.”

“Very well.”

Dani looked like she wanted to say something more, but resigned herself to silence as she finished cleaning and locking up the drawer.

“Goodnight, Dani. Treat yourself kindly.”

“I will. Goodnight, Hannah.”

Dani Disapparated from the cabin without even a pop.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Thank you for your continued support of the story! Not much to say besides the warnings attached to the tags in this story are applied to this chapter and from here on out.
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

For Hannah, dressing up in her surrogate uniform the next morning was like voluntarily locking a scold’s bridle over her head before also strapping herself into a straitjacket. The dress was freshly pressed, the bonnet starched, the shoes cleaned, and the stockings mended, but Hannah never forgot how thin the fabric was and how easily the buttons opened with not so much as a sneeze. 

_Fuck this bloody outfit,_ she thought angrily as she readjusted the bonnet strings to make the cursed contraption looser under her chin. Hannah hated how the stupid thing acted as blinders. 

Healer Lydia Stroud had much better things to do with her time than make regular visits to random, low-level surrogates. Usually, she sent assistants in her stead to dole out potions and perform health checks. Hannah had seen the healer twice since orientation, both times after she demonstrated telltale early pregnancy symptoms. Stroud arrived, ran vitals, checked for a healthy and compatible fetus, and then was on her way in less than twenty minutes. As such, today was an unusual and unexpected visit. 

After Hannah ate what should have been a delicious breakfast of apple and cinnamon oatmeal that was instead tasteless against her burnt tongue, she took the Floo network into the main estate’s kitchen. Marie was there, manually plucking the feathers out of a beautifully plumed but unfortunately very dead miniature cockatrice hen over the sink. When the house-elf spoke, she spooked Hannah quite badly because she didn’t see the elf immediately with the bonnet on. 

“Go down the hall and turn the corner. It will be the third door on your left.” 

“Oh—yes. Thank you.” 

Hannah paused at the door before turning the doorknob and opening it. She stepped out into a white-washed grand foyer with a high, fresco-covered ceiling. The frescoes depicted elegant peacocks dancing among scantily dressed women with cat paws for hands. While the greenhouse was more open to the sky and surrounding grounds, _this_ was inexplicably the room that truly made Hannah feel exposed and isolated. She was truly cohabitating with a werewolf, a marked Death Eater, two unusual house-elves, and a former school bully, all in this gigantic estate that she’d never seen the exterior of. 

Hannah followed Marie’s directions and came to the third door on her left. She took a deep breath and entered the room behind it. It was a large study stuffed to the gills with books, ebony furniture covered in tanned leather, and burnished bronze accents. 

“Good morning, Hannah.” Hannah turned around to see Vhelade sitting at a traditional executive desk. Her face was obscured by a copy of The _Daily Prophet._ Hannah’s eyes went to the front headline. 

**First Human ‘Head Goblin’ Appointed at Gringotts?**

Vhelade folded the paper closed and rested her chin in her hand. She was dressed in high quality silky burgundy robes flecked with silver threads. _With how wealthy the Zabini family is, they’re probably made out in out of farmed Milanese Acromantula silk_ , Hannah surmised. Vhelade also wore a full face of impeccable makeup and a glamour across her forehead. She looked like the _dona de fuera_ fountain made flesh. 

“Whoever designed that outfit deserves to be disemboweled,” Vhelade growled as she critically picked apart Hannah’s outfit with her eyes. She stood and came over to circle around Hannah like an infuriated fashion designer with her arms crossed. She held the rolled-up issue of the _Daily Prophet_ in her hand like a wand. “It’s the least alluring thing I’ve ever seen. I have indigestion from looking at it.” 

Hannah looked down at her slippers. 

“And that _bonnet._ It looks like a piece of equipment we’d use on our Thestrals.” 

Hannah twisted the manacle on her right wrist. 

“Do you like wearing it?” 

Hannah shook her head. 

“Well, then I’m going to say something. There’s no reason for you to wear such a thing if I have anything to do about it.” 

Vhelade stuck out the rolled-up newspaper and pressed the top of it against Hannah’s chest. 

“Daphne asked that I be present for your meeting with Lydia Stroud. You are to remain silent unless _I_ ask you to answer a question. Understood?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“In the meantime, it will do you some good to read the newspaper today. Specifically, the cover story and the article on the top of the third page.” 

With trembling fingers, Hannah took the newspaper and unrolled it. The moving picture beside the headline was the colored blank-eyed stare of a well-dressed elderly goblin bleeding out right outside the storefront of Obscurus Books. Rare leather backed books were scattered about in the bloodied snow. A long arrow made of yellow feathers and dark wood was buried in his belly. A panicked male bystander repeatedly checked for a pulse and found no signs of life during every repetition. 

Vhelade retrieved a cushioned armchair by hand from the other side of the room and instructed Hannah to sit. Hannah obeyed and began to read. 

**First Human ‘Head Goblin’ Appointed at Gringotts?**

_Gringotts Wizarding Bank confirmed at their press conference this morning that they have installed a new Head Goblin after the untimely assassination of former Head Goblin Ragruff the Elder. Ragruff, who had served as Gringotts’ Head Goblin since 1862, was murdered by an unknown assailant this past Friday in Diagon Alley. Officials have yet to confirm if this incident is tied to the assassination of Warden Dolores Umbridge that occurred earlier last week._

_Our top-secret insider source tells the_ Daily Prophet _that the successor to the position of Head Goblin is...not a goblin at all! They say that the new Head Goblin is a well-respected human banker who worked in the Gringotts department that deals with Muggle currency exchange and circulation. It is unknown if You-Know-Who had any influence on this unprecedented appointment. The Daily Prophet shall stay vigilant to any new developments on this story._

It was an oddly short article to be a frontpage story. Something about it rubbed Hannah completely the wrong way. Gringotts was one of the most secretive organizations in the Wizarding World. _Why_ would the Daily Prophet choose to publish this news in such a public manner? 

Hannah read it through three more times before turning to the third page. She was greeted with a huge monochrome picture of Dani in an executive pantsuit and tea party hat with a black band and wide brim. She stood behind a podium, cheerily giving an animated speech. Hannah’s hands grew clammy at the headline. 

**Death Eater Set to Replace Dolores Umbridge as Hogwarts Warden**

_by Rita Skeeter_

_The Ministry of Magic announced last night that they have secured a new acting Warden at Hogwarts after the sensational assassination of Dolores Umbridge this past Wednesday that continues to send shockwaves through the international wizarding community. Minister Thicknesse escorted the young and alluring Death Eater Daphne Greengrass Zabini, pictured here in a fashionable matching emerald green pantsuit and hat from Twilfitt and Tattings, up to the stage to give her speech. She accepted the position in a short but eloquent address that proves that our new Warden can not only look the part but present it as well._

_Mrs. Zabini was born on 17 October 1979 to one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain. She is the elder sister to popular socialite and renowned beauty Mrs. Astoria G. Malfoy, the beloved wife of esteemed fellow Death Eater Draco L. Malfoy._

_Mrs. Zabini attended Hogwarts as part of the noble Slytherin House from 1991 to 1998. There, she excelled in Astronomy and the History of Magic. After the Final Battle, she quickly climbed the ranks among the Dark Lord's supporters after the Final Battle, but it is unknown by which mechanisms she accomplished her euphoric rise, besides perhaps some help from her familial connections and her family’s considerable wealth. She married Mr. Blaise Zabini_ _, an exceptional Dark Lord supporter and eldest heir to the pureblooded Italian Zabini family fortune, in October 2003._

_The formerly reclusive Mrs. Zabini has garnered a positive reputation as “The People’s Death Eater” among dangerously moderate younger witches and wizards for her outspoken advocation of the humane treatment and relocation of Mudbloods. Now that this pretty witch sits in public office for the near future, it will be interesting to see if she maintains her good standing among her current supporters._

Hannah could only bear to read the article once. 

_Warden Daphne Greengrass._ Surely _she knows about what went on in the Hogwarts Prison._

Tears of fury threatened to fall. Hannah curled up one of her fists in anger, crumpling the edge of the newspaper held within it. Just when Hannah thought she could _maybe_ open up to this woman even just a little bit, _this_ happened. It felt like a betrayal she hadn’t experienced since the war. 

_But then...what was last night about?_ Confusion quickly followed Hannah’s anger. 

Vhelade watched Hannah’s reaction. Hannah could feel the woman’s eyes dancing across her face and refused to look up. 

“...This morning, I reviewed some security footage filmed in your cabin last night. Just for safety precautions, of course. Footage is missing from between 1:45 and 2:45. Did anything unusual occur in your cabin early this morning?” 

Hannah panicked. 

_You will be obedient._

_You will not offend the wives._

The two instructions reverberated through her head at thunderous speeds and continually crashed into each other. Hannah counteracted the mental pain in the only way she knew how: redirecting focus. 

“What is security footage?” 

Vhelade blinked. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. 

“Muggle technology to keep you and the rest of my family safe. The blank section...well, it could be caused by all sorts of magic on the estate shortening out the camera. I will investigate it further. You...you may read the rest of this issue while we wait for Lydia.” 

Hannah did just that, combining the pages line by line for any mention of the surrogates. Hannah found no mentions of Hermione, but she did discover one nugget of information on the tenth page that made her nearly cry in jubilation: Angelina Johnson belonged to Theodore Nott. She ended up in the paper because she was spotted with allegedly slightly swollen ankles in Knockturn Alley yesterday afternoon. Still—the bullheaded Gryffindor Chaser was still alive. It felt _so_ good to know. 

When Hannah was halfway through her second read of the _Daily Prophet_ , the door to the study opened. Stroud had arrived. 

Hannah straightened up and all but threw the _Daily Prophet_ back at Vhelade, who sat behind the executive desk reading an old dusty romance novel. She caught it in a stride and opened it back up to the middle of the issue. 

The weasel-like healer peered at Hannah from over her half-moon glasses and quietly shut the door behind her. 

“Letting your son’s surrogate read the newspaper, are we?” 

“Blaise and Daphne believe that providing an enriched and minimally stressful environment to Miss Abbott will result in healthier heirs. Do you not agree?” The way Vhelade addressed Stroud was icy and biting. Hannah shivered. 

“...Just as long as her basic needs are being met, you shouldn’t have any cause to be worried. Babies who experience a little bit of stress in utero are generally healthier than those who don’t.” 

“The conception of a healthy magical infant is tricky, is it not?” Vhelade stood and walked over to where Stroud conjured her examination table and began to set up shop. 

“Yes, it is, but—” 

“Yet your program is all about impregnating unwilling prisoners of war by allowing their enemies to sexually violate them, isn’t it? That seems to be more significant than ‘a little bit of stress.’ Tell me, how does that dynamic allow for the production of healthy magical infants?” 

“Vhelade, I screen all of the surrogates and sperm donors for genetic compatibility. You see, _magical conception—”_

_“—Muggles_ have this thing called _artificial insemination_ where they take this contraption called a ‘syringe,’ fill it with donor sperm, and inject it directly at or even past the cervix. Are you telling me that wizards are so technologically inept and evolutionarily behind that you can’t use a similar concept?” 

Stroud said nothing, but her face grew red as a tomato. 

“So, you’re admitting that your little propaganda program can’t save these girls from the trauma of being at the hands of these...these _men_ for _what?_ Because you suspect that an emotional connection is required for healthy conceptions? _Have you told the Dark Lord that you’re producing mostly miscarriages and Squibs because your little hypothesis is failing and because the girls are being treated like shit?”_

“All of the participating families sign paperwork ensuring that they will treat the surrogates humanely,” Stroud said stiffly, blatantly ignoring Vhelade’s accusation. Vhelade used her considerable height to her full advantage, peering over Stroud’s shoulder as the healer shuffled around papers and opened her medicine bag. 

“Don’t play dumb with me. I’m on the board. I’ve read all the reports since November, including the one from mid-January about the Granger Mudblood and her dangerously low sodium levels. You can’t protect the only one in the program that the Dark Lord even marginally cares about.” 

“Hannah, come over here. Sit down.” 

Hannah obeyed and took a seat across from the healer on a conjured stool. As Stroud pulled out her vial of Veritaserum to put a routine drop of it on Hannah’s tongue, Vhelade’s hand shot out and wrapped her fingers around the vial. 

“If you dare to use that shit on the future mother of my grandchildren, I will request a personal audience with the Dark Lord himself. I’ll tell him about what you did in Morocco between August and December of 1992. I sure he’d _love_ to know.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’ve faithfully helped finance Tom’s cause since the first Wizarding War. He’ll take my word over yours every single time, Lydia. Don’t you _dare_ question my son’s choices when it comes to how he treats his surrogate.” 

Stroud quickly worked through all of Hannah’s screenings without another word, stealing quick glances at the imposing woman who lorded over her with an unchanging expression. 

“Well?” Vhelade asked, breaking the silence. 

“Hannah’s progesterone levels are prime for successful conception. She’s ready for breeding.” 

“Blaise will make quick work of that, I’m sure.” 

“Now, about Hannah’s potions—” 

“No potions. Hannah will not be needing them.” 

“Very well, then.” Stroud hurriedly began vanishing her furniture. Hannah would have fallen flat on her ass when the stool vanished from under her if Vhelade hadn’t pulled her up by her arm. 

“Do you have anything to say, Hannah?” Vhelade asked. 

“Yes...the skin under my manacles itch.” 

“Oh, of course it does,” Stroud grumbled as she rifled through her bag and pulled out a tube of cream. “Apply this twice a day, morning and evening, around the manacles. Should stop it.” 

“Thank you.” Hannah took the cream and held it behind her back. 

“Two more things you should know before you leave, Lydia.” 

Stroud took a deep breath and stuck her chest out as she stood. “Yes, Vhelade?” 

“One: Miss Abbott will wear whatever I choose to put her in. If I ever have the pleasure of seeing you again in this house, she won’t be wearing this unsightly outfit.” 

“Sure. Fine.” 

“And two: the Zabini family will be _keeping_ any little girls and Squibs that Miss Abbott conceives. Is that clear?” 

“I will have to—” 

“I’m sorry. _Did I stutter?_ ” 

“Y—yes, I understand.” 

“Good. Now get off of my estate.” 

***

Hannah ate another tasteless lunch, showered, changed into the sunflower-covered jumpsuit, applied the cream to her wrists, and spent the entire afternoon until five minutes before her appointment snuggled up on the east-facing window seat on the cabin’s second floor. She alternated between snoozing and flipping through a huge paperback dedicated to the care of Muggle heirloom fruit trees. The book was rather dry and repetitive, but anything was better than what was about to happen next. Her mind was prepared, but her body wasn’t in the least. At five minutes prior to, Hannah stood and went downstairs to the Bluebell fire. She spent way too long trying to pry apart the clasp while Osiris watched her expectantly. Finally, she got a pinch out and threw it into the fire. 

“Second floor parlor.” 

Hannah stepped out into an impeccably clean and wallpapered room with two west-facing windows that showcased the gradual winter transition from the golden hour to sunset. It was devoid of furniture except for a stately bed with an elaborate headboard and two side tables. One side table had two glass potion bottles and a folded note pinned underneath one of them. 

Hannah unfolded the note of stiff parchment and read the spidery cursive in blue ink. 

_Was out of both potions you requested. Sorry. Blaise brewed some of both this morning. He made them extra strong! Good luck! Cheering for both of you. —Dani_

The two bottles had handwritten labels on them. The words “Calming Draught” and “Draught of Peace” were written in thick and methodical black strokes. 

Hannah downed both bottles without another thought and felt their effects quickly take over her body. She crawled onto the bed and felt every tense muscle go limp. She focused her mind onto a crack in the ceiling and let her mind go blank. 

Her concentration was interrupted only by the turn of a doorknob. Blaise walked in and shut the door with not so much as a click behind him. His perfume—bergamot overlaid with vetiver and cedar—trailed faintly behind him. 

Hannah propped herself up on her elbows to watch for Blaise’s next move. His face was drawn. He had puffy undereye bags that weren’t there a couple days ago. He was dressed in a dark suit that probably costed more than the entire Abbott estate before the war. 

“Hannah, hello.” Blaise finally addressed Hannah, giving a tight-lipped and tired smile. 

“Hey.” 

“Sorry, I look a mess today. I promise you I showered this morning.” Blaise set down his suitcase beside the bed and stripped off his outer robes. He hesitated before hanging them off the ridge of the bed’s headboard. 

“It’s okay.” 

“Did the potions work?” 

“Mhm. I feel very calm and relaxed right now. Isn’t that an ironic thing to say?” Hannah broke out into a fit of nervous laughter that she was mortified to display in front of Blaise. 

Blaise didn’t seem to mind. He gave a genuine, though still exhausted smile this time, complete with a slightly more pointed right eyetooth. “Best if we get right to it?” 

Hannah nodded. 

“How do you want this to go?” 

That gave Hannah pause. No one had ever asked her how she wanted their sexual encounter to go. She had no idea what to say. 

“Any way you want it to, I suppose.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Blaise pulled out his elm wand with the gold grain. 

“ _Nox_.” 

The entire room went dark. Even the fading natural light from the windows was extinguished. 

Hannah held her breath as she listened to the unzipping of pants and the general ruffling of clothing removal. She couldn’t even see an outline of the man in the room with her. She braced herself for his touch. Despite the potions, her nerves still swam about just underneath the calm. She tried to keep herself from locking her legs closed with all her strength. 

“Take your top off?” He phrased the request as a question. 

Hannah shakily complied, propping herself partially up for just long enough to pull off the straps, wriggle it the jumpsuit down to the small of her waist, and pull her bra up and off her chest. Her nipples hardened against the coolness of the room and it took almost all her concentration to not to cover her chest. In addition to the stretchmarks, the fertility potions did a number on the size of it. Marcus loved the size. Hannah hated it, especially the underboob rubbing and frequent rashes that the Flints overlooked. 

He murmured a lubrication charm that Hannah had never hear of. Hannah tensed again, waiting to feel his hands against her body and hear further instructions. They never came. 

She listened to his breathing become shallow and could tell by the sounds he made in the way he touched himself. Long, slow strokes that elicited sounds that he tried his best to tamp down. They stayed in this manner for at least ten minutes before Blaise exhaled sharply with his orgasm and took a few silent moments to collect himself. 

“You’re done. Cover yourself up.” Hannah did so as he fumbled for the wand he left somewhere on the bed. When he found it, he muttered a cleaning charm under his breath. 

“Lumos.” 

All of the interior lights turned back on and Hannah blinked profusely against the brightness. Blaise sat cross-legged on the bed, as far away from Hannah as he possibly could be. He was naked but politely concealed. 

“Are you alright, Hannah?” 

Hannah sat up and gave a nod. 

“Bloody excellent. That’s a relief.” 

Blaise hopped off the bed and scrambled for his briefs. Hannah watched him as he did so, though she never got a good look at what she was curious about: his dick. 

It was evident, however, that he took great pride in his physical physique. He was slightly more built that the average professional Chaser with thicker thighs and glutes. From a purely physical perspective, Hannah could see why Gwendoline Hedgeflower drunkenly lusted after him whenever she had too many shots of Firewhiskey during their Fifth Year. 

“Stay in here for at least fifteen minutes before you leave, okay? I’ll meet you in here again tomorrow at the same time. If something changes, I’ll let Riley know.” He spoke in a dry and professional manner. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Yes, ‘Blaise.’” 

“Yes, Blaise,” Hannah hastily corrected herself. Blaise let a small, sad smile play on his lips. 

“Have a good evening.” 

With that, Blaise gathered his belongings and left. Hannah waited until seventeen minutes passed— _just in case—_ before leaving the parlor for her cabin.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I've realized that the sixth Harry Potter movie introduced a lot of background characters and details that weren't in the original book. One of these original film-only characters will play a somewhat important role in this story. :) 
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

_Does he think I’m ugly?_

That was the first quandary that Hannah pondered over during the next two days as she laid there with her chest exposed the dark second floor parlor room and listened to Blaise’s suppressed gasps and heavy breathing as he touched himself at the end of the bed. 

_Surely not,_ Hannah concluded by third day. _Something_ aroused him about her being there with him. Despite him looking like an Inferius, Blaise still reached an orgasm in a normal time span. It wasn’t the power and control that turned him on. He would never ask her what she’d like to do right before he extinguished the lights. Besides, he was always embarrassed and apologetic afterwards as he absentmindedly redressed and left while she laid there immobilized for ten minutes despite having no reason to. 

_You will do everything to get pregnant quickly and produce healthy children._

The instruction repeatedly _screamed_ at Hannah since the first night’s odd encounter, but it wasn’t like she could force herself upon the man she was assigned to. Thus, she ignored it as best as she could. She continued the same daily routine as if nothing was out of place. Eat breakfast, shower, read, eat lunch, read some more, and then go lie in the parlor until a battered and exhausted-looking Blaise turned the lights off and masturbated completely naked like an exhibitionist. 

To be frank, Hannah was perfectly fine not being intimately touched by a man for as long as she could avoid it. No intimacy meant no pregnancy. 

_Good._

Now off of the copious number of fertility potions and aphrodisiacs she took while living with the Flints, Hannah’s sex drive quickly reverted to its original state: a libido normally resembling that of a panda’s. It was honestly _really nice_ nothaving to deal with both the constant unwanted arousal and with Marcus’ magically enlarged penis on a daily basis. For the first time in a very long time, Hannah was almost happy. 

On the rainy and cold fourth day of her fertility window, Riley brought news that made Hannah’s entire week during a late brunch. 

“Miss Hufflepuff!” the house-elf announced as she Apparated into the cabin with a silver tray of tea and steel cut oatmeal with cinnamon sprinkled on top. 

“Yes?” Hannah looked up from the fragile tome on mooncalf husbandry in her lap as she sat on the floor by the fire. She stubbornly resolved to read the damn thing up until the chapter on mooncalf dung harvesting methods. 

“The strawberry seedlings and a ‘surprise’ for Miss arrived this morning. Master Zabini sent word that Miss may use the greenhouse between noon and 14:00 this afternoon to plant them.” Riley conjured a wide flat black plastic tray of clover-like seedlings and a parcel wrapped up in a brown paper and tied with twine. 

“Oh! Terrific news, I’ve been looking forward to these.” 

Riley hesitated before setting the tray beside Hannah on the floor. 

“Does Miss need anything from Riley?” 

“No, Riley. Thank you. I’m fine for now.” 

Riley gave a polite smile, curtseyed, and Disapparated out of the room. 

Hannah shoved a spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth and grabbed for the package. With trembling fingers, she unraveled the twine and pulled off the paper. The package contained an assemblage of plastic gardening tools inside of a red nylon mesh bag. Brightly colored, they were obviously meant for Muggle children, but Hannah’s heart nearly gave out when she opened the mesh bag and reached for the bright blue gardening shovel. No burning sensation resulted when she wrapped her hand around the handle. Hannah burst into ridiculous tears of relief as she lovingly caressed every single tool in the bag. 

_I can garden. Merlin’s beard, I can garden._

After Hannah finished the chapter she was reading (this one on artificial mooncalf burrow creation), she changed out of her nightgown and into an awaiting outfit of flared jeans, white sneakers, and a worn Muggle T-shirt with a Muggle band logo she’d never heard of called “Nirvana.” 

With a pinch of Floo powder, Hannah stepped out of the fireplace and into the greenhouse at 12:05 with the bag of tools in one hand and the seedling tray balanced on the other. She froze at the sound of voices in the second room. 

“And _these_ are Deadlyius primordiums.” 

“Bloody hell, Blaise. It’s your only day off and you’re still being productive? You’re going to kill yourself at this rate.” The second voice was proper, feminine, and high-pitched. It was completely unsuited for swears. 

“Old Slug had a surplus he planned to destroy—convinced him to sell them to me at a huge discount. How could I say no when he gave in?” 

“What’re you going to do with all of these fucking mushrooms when they are ready for harvesting?” 

“What I do with everything I grow: hoard them until I need to use them.” 

“You’re no better than Dani.” 

That remark got a hoarse chuckle out of Blaise. “True, true. It’s why we get along so well.” 

Hannah prepared to bolt as she heard footsteps getting closer. 

“Wait a moment—we have a visitor I want you to meet.” 

“No, no, I must—” 

“It’ll only be a few minutes.” 

Hannah dropped the bag of tools and reached for the Floo powder purse that she tucked under her armpit when Blaise pulled aside the separating plastic. He wore black dress robes underneath a thick dragonhide apron. He looked only marginally better than he did yesterday. Seeing Hannah, he gave a small smile and drew back the plastic further. 

“Come in. Bring your tools.” He beckoned for her with dragonhide gloved hands. 

“Sir, I am not ready or in proper attire. Please—” 

“You’re in good company. Our guest is safe to be around as you are. Come.” 

Hannah, compelled by the instruction hammered into her brain, reluctantly picked up her tool bag and walked into the second partitioned room. 

Blaise’s conversation partner was a small witch with a thin mousy brown bob. She stood at attention to Hannah’s presence in the room and adjusted the sleeping little girl nestled against her chest. 

“Hestia, this is Hannah Abbott.” 

Hestia’s eyes narrowed as they flitted down to Hannah’s Muggle clothing before traveling back up to Hannah’s face. “Your surrogate?” 

“Mhm. Hannah, this is Hestia Nott. She was two years behind us in school. We met in an exclusive club that Professor Slughorn ran during our Sixth Year.” 

Hannah gave a polite half curtsey, a movement that felt awkward in an outfit with pants. She didn't recognize the witch at all. Like a ruffled mother hen, Hestia wrapped her arms tightly around the child. The little girl, who couldn’t be much older than two, screwed up her face unhappily and twisted about to get more comfortable in her sleep. She settled on shoving her face into the crook of Hestia’s neck. 

“Hestia handles the financials of the Greengrass estate,” Blaise continued with a hint of uneasiness, interrupting the thick silence between the two women. 

“Even though Blaise could handle everything by himself,” Hestia responded haughtily. 

“It’s always good to have a second pair of eyes on such matters,” Blaise shot back. 

“It is wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Nott. The Greengrass estate is beautiful. I am grateful to be here.” Hannah did what she did best: rattling off hollow platitudes until Hestia’s face softened just a little bit. 

“Its exterior is one of the best examples of seventeenth century pureblood Gothic architecture in Great Britain,” Hestia finally volunteered in response to Hannah’s compliments. 

“Is that so? I haven’t seen the exterior of the estate buildings yet—only the gardens you can see from the greenhouse.” 

“Blaise! You haven’t given her a full tour?” 

“It’s on the docket, Hestia, but it hasn’t been feasible with the career changes.” 

“Even Theo gave Angelina a complete house tour during her first week in our home,” Hestia sniffed. 

“Wouldn’t expect anything else from him. How is Angelina, by the way?” Blaise asked. Hannah swore that out of the corner of her good eye, Blaise gave her an acknowledging look. 

“Angelina? Why?” 

“Just curious.” Blaise took the tray of strawberry seedlings from Hannah, went over to the nearby potting bench. He began pouring measured amounts of liquid fertilizer into each seedling’s soil from a pump bottle. 

“She’s still a mess with four intact fingers, a limp, and more scars than skin, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“How has her pregnancy been?” 

Hestia paled a bit at Blaise’s question, pressed her lips together in a thin line, and looked to the little girl in her arms. “Her morning sickness is bad. She throws up every potion she’s prescribed. But our son will be a healthy, handsome, and fully magical baby.” 

“Congratulations,” Blaise murmured. “What a blessing to be had on the Nott family.” He pulled out his elm wand and muttered a spell over the saddest-looking seedling. It perked up and grew three more bright green leaves. 

“We are lucky to have one of the beautiful surrogates. Theo’s obsession with her paid off in that regard.” Hestia’s eyes briefly flitted over the Hannah. They went straight to the hole in her head. Hannah could practically read the witch’s thoughts. 

_You’re not one of the pretty ones. Why did the Zabinis choose you?_

“I expect Alecto will stop giving me shit about Rhea once he’s born. I look forward to it.” 

“Alecto’s been a pain in everyone’s side recently, I’ve heard.” 

“I’m sure Dani’s told you the stories.” 

“She’s told me a few, but I’m sure Theo has more than she does.” 

“Let’s...just say that I hope the High Reeve strings her up by her tendons soon,” Hestia huffed. She adjusted her hold on the toddler and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I hope Amycus is snuffed out soon after.” 

“Flora would be thrilled if that happened, I’m sure.” 

“She’s more excited for that day than I am. And that’s saying something.” 

Hannah watched at how Hestia monitored Blaise’s actions in such a methodical manner. She watched him primarily out of one eye like a robin eyeing a worm. 

“Well, Blaise, I simply must be off. Rhea will throw a fit if I don’t get her to bed before she wakes from her nap.” 

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice. I’m sorry to trouble you with the last-minute adjustments.” 

“You’re welcome. It wasn’t like I was doing anything of importance to begin with.” 

“Have a good afternoon, Hestia.” 

“Say hello to Dani for me. Tell her that I miss her.” 

“I’ll relay the message.” 

“Also, consider Theo’s offer. It would help your reputations if you both came.” 

“I will. Good afternoon.” 

Hannah stepped aside to let their guests get to the fireplace in the first room. Hestia and her daughter exited the greenhouse by Floo, leaving Blaise and Hannah alone in the second room. 

Seemingly satisfied with the alterations done to the strawberry seedlings, Blaise pulled off his gloves. It might have been Hannah’s imagination, but he seemed shaken. 

“I’ll leave you be to plant.” 

“ _Wait_ —you can stay, if you’d like.” The protest that came from her lips surprised her, though she knew where it came from. She was lonely. She wanted someone to talk to that wasn’t a suspicious house-elf. 

The expression that Blaise made in response was unexpected— _hopeful,_ maybe? He quickly tamped down whatever he was feeling and resumed his countenance of aloof politeness. 

“Or you can do whatever feels dandy,” Hannah quickly backtracked, realizing her mistake. “I’ll be down here a while too, so you don’t have to stay for the entire time.” 

“No,” Blaise began coolly. “I’ll be happy to stay with you.” 

He picked up the tray of seedlings and ushered for Hannah to go first into her section of the greenhouse. Rain dripped down on the glass panes above them. Despite the wetness outside, the foundation fairy continued to pour her libations into the foundation basin. 

Hannah and Blaise worked side by side in complete silence. Giving his rather talkative nature with the lily encounter, Hannah found the lack of conversation odd but decided not to question it. No matter. It was nice to simply have company. Digging in a raised bed’s rich earth felt positively marvelous, even if it was with a plastic toy. Every seedling that Hannah handled sparkled with a delicious magical energy that warmed Hannah’s throat. She took her sweet time planting every single one. 

Blaise pulled another germination tray from the now tidy potting bench and filled each space with a bit of potting soil. He pulled several seedling packets from the top drawer and studied the front and backs inquisitively. 

“Hannah—should we plant cucumbers, potatoes, or carrots?” 

“You can plant whatever you’d like.” 

“No, I’m asking for _your_ opinion.” 

Hannah shrugged. “It is your decision.” 

_“No._ I want _your_ opinion.” 

Hannah hesitated before answering. “Carrots, I guess? Maybe those 'rainbow’ carrots?” 

“Done.” Blaise tore open the appropriate package and began planting the seeds. 

“B...Blaise...” Hannah steeled the courage to follow up the conversation. 

“Riley asked about your request to research pureblood families. You may read about the Sacred Twenty-Eight all you want. We are happy to provide you with as much reading material as you’d like on that subject. However, you are strictly forbidden from researching any other pureblood European families.” 

“Oh, okay. Sure, that’s completely fine by me.” It felt weird and uncomfortable to be given more boundaries in such a manner, but Hannah would take what she could get. 

“Also, if you have anything to say relating to the parlor, I refuse to discuss it here.” 

There was her extremely unsatisfying answer to the question that she was trying to broach. 

_Why no sex?_

Hannah ran her tongue along her hard palate. 

Blaise used a bit of magic to get the carrot seeds to sprout before planting all eighteen of seedings in neat rows right beside the strawberries. With a huff of satisfaction, he stood and brushed off his robes. 

“I’ll expect you in three hours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Be ready for a surprise.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Thank you for your continued readership! I appreciate each and every one of you. Happy late Valentine's Day and International Fanworks Day! Celebrate with some discount sweets.
> 
> Best,
> 
> Lady

Hannah wasn’t sure what awaited her in the parlor, but the more she thought about it the more anxious she became. Her mind ran through all the possibilities that it could be— _a new potion? More plants? A sex restraint?_ She fervently prayed it wasn’t the last option.

When she arrived at the parlor, Blaise was sitting the bed with his back against the headboard. He replaced his dress robes with sweatpants and a plain Muggle T-shirt.

It was strange, Hannah realized, seeing the outspoken blood purist she recalled from school now clothed in something that a London Muggle chap would wear hanging around his flat. She still didn’t know what to make of his equally proud mother’s obsession with Muggle security cameras.

He looked up from the black box he held in his hands and gave Hannah nod. He still looked _bad_ , but Hannah couldn’t put her finger on why.

Hannah swallowed the two potions waiting for her on the nightstand and felt the effects soothe her troubled mind. Blaise scooted over and beckoned for Hannah to sit across from him on her side of the bed.

When she was comfortable, Blaise offered Hannah the box.

“Your surprise.”

“Oh…may I open it?”

“Please.”

Hannah unhooked the cardboard lid and opened it. White tissue paper protected a half spherical item inside.

_A…broken marble?_

After she pushed aside the tissue paper, Hannah nearly threw the box across the room. A glass eye prosthetic with an electric blue iris stared up at her before it took the liberty to look around the room from where it rested in the box.

Auror and former resistance leader Alastor Moody’s fake eye.

“Dani recovered it from Umbridge’s office,” Blaise began.

Despite the potions, Hannah felt woozy. She remembered when the peace officers dragged Moody’s naked body back to Hogwarts. His neck hung at an unnatural angle when they suspended him by his wrists from the astronomy tower. They’d cast an experimental hex on him that day. It caused his body to bloat and his skin to slip off. When they were done with him, Moody looked like a forgotten drowning victim. Hannah hoped that he was dead before they cast that spell.

“Dani consulted with the healers at Hogwarts about the circumstances around your…eye removal. She thinks you’d benefit from it as a visual aid.”

“Blaise...I don’t know what to say,” Hannah got out. The eye focused its attention back on her face. Hannah rapidly blinked back tears.

“As…morbid as it seems, I think Moody would want you to have it. He wouldn’t want it used as a spying device, that’s for sure. I’m curious too,” Blaise admitted. He smiled and Hannah got to witness a completely new emotion on his face: good-natured eagerness. “I’d like to see if you could use it.”

In the mix of her turbulent emotions, Hannah’s heart gave a pathetic little sideways thump in her chest.

“Well...”

“If it’s uncomfortable, you don’t have to wear it after this.”

“Uh...”

“I swear to it. On my honor as a Zabini.”

Hannah held her breath and poked at Moody’s eye with her fingertip. To her immense surprise, the manacles didn’t register the eye as a threat. She rubbed the glossy sclera with her thumb.

“Just this once. Please.”

Hannah pursed her lips. “If you help me put it in, I will wear it.”

Blaise nodded solemnly. “Deal.”

Blaise scooted over closer to her and picked up the eye delicately. With a shudder of revulsion, Hannah pried her top and bottom eyelids apart with both hands, opening the gaping hole in her head as wide as she could make it. Blaise pressed his dry and warm thumb against her orbital ridge to guide the eye into place. With a final push, it popped into place with less pain than Hannah expected.

Hannah never could coherently explain what happened next. A dull and pulsing heat thudded against the back of her eye socket for a few brief moments before ebbing away. Her vision brightened and doubled. The golden-lit parlor gained drastic dimension and depth that she hadn’t seen in over a year and a half. Hannah saw the bathroom on the other side of the wall behind her. She admired little details like the sink’s and shower’s matching brass faucets and a terrycloth towel hanging from on a hook. In her sight, the wall between the parlor and bathroom resembled little more than a glimmering piece of pale blue Muggle plastic wrap.

“What do you think?”

Hannah looked to the east. With a frustrated look on her little face, Marie marched down the hall on the other side of the wall with an oversized feather duster in hand.

“It’s...it’s indescribable.”

“What do you see?”

“The hall over there. And the bathroom behind me.”

“ _Remarkable_. Simply remarkable. Never heard of anything like it. How does it feel?”

“It burned a bit putting it in, but it doesn’t hurt now.” 

“Good. Dani added some protective spells and reduced the size of it.”

Blaise’s awful eyes wandered over Hannah’s face. “We tried to change the iris color to your eye color, but unfortunately we couldn’t figure out how to do it.”

“No, it’s fine.” Hannah inclined her head and focused her good eye on her hands. Moody’s eye involuntarily spun to watch Blaise. It would take some work to get the eye to obey her if she wanted to continue using it, Hannah concluded. “I’d prefer one light blue eye to no eye at all, I think.” 

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you like it.”

“I certainly want to experiment with it, at the very least.”

“That’s fine by me,” Blaise shrugged. “I nearly forgot—look in the bottom of the box.”

Hannah removed the tissue paper. She found a folded leather eyepatch underneath. 

“Your second surprise. For visitors, outings, and public engagements primarily, but it’s yours to use as you please.”

“Wow, it’s beautiful.” Hannah unfolded the eyepatch and took a long look at its interior and exterior with her new, strange vision. 

“It’s made of Norwegian Ridgeback belly hide. Soft and shouldn’t cause long term discomfort.”

“Thank you...I don’t know what to say, truly.” 

“We can’t have my mum making constant comments about your eye socket, can we?” Blaise asked in a lighthearted tone.

“It would be preferable if avoidable,” Hannah responded with the same fluttery air.

“Right? Put it on over the glass eye.”

Hannah tried on the eyepatch. It fit perfectly and didn’t impede her newfound vision one bit. Blaise gave her an approving look. “Shall we get on with everything?”

Hannah sobered, gave a nod, and removed the eyepatch and put it back in the box. As she began to undo her blouse, Blaise stopped her with a light and brief touch to the top of her hand. He pulled his hand back like he touched a nettle. 

“No need. I—I was joshing with you. I’m going to take this time to sleep today.”

“Sure,” Hannah said hurriedly with heated cheeks. She quickly buttoned up her blouse again. 

“My apologies. You can rest here too, if you’d like. I can take the floor if you’d like the bed to yourself.”

“No, please, go ahead and use the bed.”

Her master didn’t bother to protest. Blaise pulled off his socks, folded them, and stuffed them in his sweatpants’ pocket. He hesitated before also pulling off his sweatpants and throwing them on the ground on his side of the bed. In only his black briefs and shirt, Blaise crawled underneath the quilt and laid down on his side to face away from Hannah. 

“Say, Hannah,” Blaise began after a period of silence, “were you and Longbottom ever in a relationship?”

Hannah looked down at her hands again. She hadn’t bitten her nails since she was assigned to the Flints back in November. Pansy mocked her for them. Hannah, in true stubborn Hufflepuff fashion, resolved to quit the habit out of spite. Without magic to speed up the healing, they were almost normal looking again, though her nail plates were bumpy.

“Never mind,” Blaise said hurriedly, regret clear in his voice. 

“No, I don’t mind answering. I have nothing to hide in that regard.” Hannah laid down on top of the covers and used her arm as a pillow. Moody’s eye swung about in her eye socket as she attempted to focus her eyes on the ceiling. She closed her eyes to prevent further nausea. The darkness was comforting, especially under the potions’ influence. “We were never officially a couple. If we wanted to go all the way back, I started fancying him in Fourth Year—“

“After the Yule Ball?” Blaise interrupted.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Hannah gave a tired chuckle. “I found Neville’s intelligence attractive before that night, but I fell hard for him after I saw him in dress robes.”

“I think the Yule Ball was a...sexual awakening for many Hogwarts students.”

“I was so jealous of Ginny Weasley,” Hannah sighed. “I sat behind Neville in Charms and overheard him complaining about finding a date on several occasions. Hoped maybe he’d turn around and ask me out on a whim. Didn’t happen, of course. I was a third wheel for both Ernie and Susan and Jason and Lily that evening. Never felt uglier.” 

“The Yule Ball was the first time I saw you without pigtails.”

“You...must have a fantastic memory. I don’t even remember what I wore.”

“Your hair was crimped. You wore a bosenberry dress with cape sleeves.” 

“... _Oh no_ , I remember the hair now. That was a terrible combination, wasn’t it?”

“ _I_ thought you looked lovely.” 

The compliment hung clumsily in the air before Blaise continued in an almost bumbling manner. “I’m sorry. With a decent memory like mine and growing up the only child of a fashion-obsessed mother—I remember clothing details quite vividly. Back to what you were saying.” 

“No, no. Th—thank you for the compliment. You see, well, some of the older Hufflepuff girls spread a rumor that Neville and I were seeing each other at the beginning of Fifth Year. He was a bit mortified at the accusation, so I suppressed my affections for him after that. We became friends in Dumbledore’s Army, but he was never romantically interested in me and I was too awkward to try my luck. After he broke it off with Luna Lovegood, we began flirting almost out of the blue in our very spare time about five months before the Final Battle.” 

“Only five months?” 

“After literally years of pining and five months of lighthearted flirtation, that was it. Unless you were a stress-fucker like Ron Weasley, there wasn’t much time for intimacy on our side of the war.”

“I see.”

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure.”

Hannah listened to his breathing slow before dozing off herself. Right before she fell asleep, Blaise asked another question.

“If Potter won the war, what do you think you’d be doing now?”

A memory came to Hannah. Like many of her wartime memories, it was flimsy and motheaten, but it was there in one piece. It was early into the Second Wizarding War, though Hannah couldn’t recall exactly when. It was back when Lavender was alive, Harry didn’t chain smoke, Ron wasn’t grey, and Hermione maintained some of the softness in her face and determined spark in her eyes that she had during her Hogwarts years.

Hannah sat in the makeshift hospital ward in 12 Grimmauld Place during the very early morning hours. Hermione bustled about in her pajama pants and ratty sleep shirt, preparing a pumpkin orange poultice for a hexed wound that Hannah sustained during that night’s failed raid of a Death Eater den for food and potion ingredients. Hermione returned from healer training in Austria recently. She was called back early when Pomfrey made the realization that she needed a second pair of competent hands as the resistance began to ramp up their offensive strategies. The bright, bushy-haired witch came back a slightly different woman than she was prior to her Healer training. More dignified, more adult. More mature than the rest of the resistance their age.

_“Your arm, Hannah.”_

Hannah winced as Hermione smoothed the mixture over the laceration with quick fingers. With a quick flick of her wand, an awaiting strip of gauze wrapped itself around Hannah’s bicep.

_“Wear this for two hours. If new pink skin hasn’t healed over it in that time, let me know.”_

_“I will. Thank you.”_

_“You’re welcome. It’s my job, isn’t it?”_ Her voice was clinical and empty these days. 

Hermione banished her supplies to their appropriate cabinets, paying little attention to her patient as she did so. Hannah could tell that her friendly acquaintance’s mind pondered more important matters by the way her brows furrowed.

“ _Hermione_ ,” Hannah began before stopping herself to gather her train of thought.

“ _Yes?_ ” Hermione sounded absent as she summoned a steaming pot of Dittany leaves and began to fish them out from where they were submerged under a clear Newtonian substance.

“ _While you were gone, I helped Pomfrey in my spare time. Mostly preparing simple potions, but I foraged a bit too. I was wondering if you might need another healer_ —”

“ _Hannah_ ,” Hermione interrupted. “ _I appreciate your offer, but Poppy and I have discussed this matter already. We chose Padma to train as our third healer_.”

“… _I’d be happy to learn just the basics, just in case a fourth person is needed. I’m sure Padma wouldn’t mind me shadowing her training_.”

Hermione froze in her task with a single leaf pinched between her forefinger and thumb. “ _We selected Padma for her aptitude for exceptional wand work, her memorization ability, and for how she stays calm under direct pressure_.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Hannah responded with a conscious effort to keep the tightness in her voice concealed. Hermione, forever blunt, knew where she was aiming at. The third requirement hurt. “ _I see_. _I could still help out with foraging—I know the local flora here better than even Neville—_ ”

“ _Ron told me about your successful plan for the nighttime Nott estate infiltration that occurred last week. You are needed there. We’ll be fine without you. I promise_.”

Hannah cleared her throat and looked over at Blaise’s back. His shirt clung to his form in a way that emphasized his shoulders.

“Neville and I joked that we’d get married and take over the Leaky Cauldron as soon as Harry obliterated You-Know-Who. After working there for a couple of years, I think I’d go back to school.”

“For what?”

“Healing,” Hannah responded, closing her eyes again. “My mum worked at St. Mungos as the head matron of Janus Thickey Ward. Always thought that I’d follow in her footsteps eventually. Maybe not with a concentration on spell damage, though. I’m more interested in magical creature-induced injuries.”

“I see.”

“You?”

The quiet that followed made Hannah want to swallow her question. She was terrified to open her eyes and see Blaise waiting to punish her in some manner. With a shift of weight on his side of the bed, Blaise finally answered.

“If I avoided Azkaban, I wanted to go back to Assisi. My father was from there—I’d move into his estate. Start an olive orchard, maybe. Press small batches of extra virgin olive oil for touring wizarding folk and Muggles alike. Something like that.”

“That sounds quite nice. Very generous.”

“Hannah, don’t be a brown-noser. You don’t have to agree with everything I say.”

“No, that plan _honestly_ sounds wonderful. If I never worried about money, I’d do something similar.”

“You would?”

“Yes. I would.”

“Hm.”

Blaise fell asleep before Hannah. Hannah didn’t dare rest until she unbuttoned her blouse and rumpled up her hair.

_You know, just in case._

Hannah was amazed at how exhausted she was from the simple event of meeting a new Death Eater’s wife without preparation. She also forgot how nice it was to drift off to the sound of another person’s breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Moody's eye is how it's described in the book: a magical glass prosthetic that inserts directly into the eye socket rather than the contraption they came up for the movies.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading! We are finally kicking it into gear in terms of a plot. Yay! As stated previously, please heed the content warnings from here on out. 
> 
> Best,  
> Lady

The fifth and final day of her conception sessions was the same as the day before it. Hannah came in ready to expose her tits to Blaise after some good potions, only to engage in a short, non-surrogate related conversation—this one on the varying effectiveness of different creature-derived fertilizers—with an almost rumpled-looking Blaise and to take a kip. As strange as it was, Hannah couldn’t bring herself to worry too much about the lack of sex. The assistant healer would examine her for signs of pregnancy, but it wouldn’t go beyond a couple of external diagnostic spells. Besides, based on what Hannah witnessed of Vhelade’s intimidation tactics, what would Stroud realistically do if one out of dozens of unimportant surrogates she had to keep track of didn’t sleep with her master during a single copulation period? Likely not much. It made sense to her calm and anxiety-less brain. 

Hannah awoke from her nap to a knock at the door. When she looked over to the wall, Hannah saw through Moody’s eye that Riley stood at the other side in the hall, timidly shifting her weight from foot to foot. 

“Master Zabini, sir?” the house-elf squeaked timidly, just loud enough for Hannah and Blaise to hear.

Blaise gave a groan, sat up, and ran his hand over his hair. “Yes, Riley?”

“Mistress Zabini is home. She requests your presence at dinner this evening after you finish.”

“Will my mother eat with us too?”

“No, sir, but Mistress said that Miss Hufflepuff may join if she desires to.”

Blaise threw Hannah an inquisitive look.

Hannah pondered over the invitation, then nodded. “Sure.”

“Make a place at the table for Hannah then.”

“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

***

Dani sat at the kitchen table when Blaise entered the room followed by Hannah. As she fingered the stem of her empty wine glass in one hand, the witch stared at the whitewashed walls with a tense expression. In her other hand, she twirled her wand listlessly.

Hannah noticed how Blaise drew his wand from his sleeve before clearing his throat to announce their presence. Dani stood with a start and whipped around to face them. Her face melted into immense relief as her eyes wandered between Blaise and Hannah.

“Well, well, well. Blaise Ulpius Zabini.” Dani slipped her wand back into its holder before she approached her husband and reached for his hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“Daphne Greengrass Zahini.” Blaise leaned down and kissed his wife on the cheek, tucking the wand back into his sleeve as he did so. “How was work?”

“Horrible. I hate every moment of it.” Dani adjusted the skater beanie that looked utterly out of place on her head when paired with an expensive two-piece business suit. “Yours?”

“Overwhelmingly stressful.”

“How’s _the_ coworker?”

“A wanker, as always.”

“Good to know _that_ hasn’t changed.” Dani gave a tired laugh and sat back down in her chair. Blaise sat beside her. Marie hurried over and pulled out a chair across from the couple for Hannah to sit in.

“Hannah,” Dani began as she poured more of the accursed Malfoy wine into her glass and took a sip, grimacing.

“Dani, don’t drink that,” Blaise interrupted and attempted to remove the glass from her grasp. “I can get you something _much_ better.”

Astoria held the glass out of Blaise’s reach. “No, Blaise, it’s fine. Two more bottles. Almost done with stuff.”

The wrinkles in Blaise’s forehead smoothed as his features relaxed at the realization that Dani was not about to give up on her quest to finish their wedding present if it meant she never had to drink it again. He summoned a wine glass from a cabinet above where Riley waited for their meal to finish in the oven. With a resigned expression, he poured himself half a glass from Dani’s bottle.

“Anyways, Hannah,” Dani began again, “how was Blaise?”

Blaise nearly choked on his wine and the two house-elves rushed to his side. Hannah felt her face turn pinker than usual.

“Blaise was…Blaise was very generous, as you told me the first night I was here.”

Dani gave a nod of approval and clapped a watery-eyed and coughing Blaise across the back. “Good job, old sport. You’ve accomplished your mission successfully, I assume?”

“Somehow I doubt Hannah is pregnant, but we will see,” Blaise got out, using his napkin to dab away the tears.

“At least the sex was good?” Dani inquired, swirling the wine around in her glass.

“Yes, it was good,” Hannah said shyly. She felt warmth travel up all the way to her ears. If no clarification was needed, she could tell vague little half lies. _It_ referred to the potions in her mind.

“Great.”

Riley retrieved the terrific-smelling roast beef from the oven and distributed the Yorkshire pudding and meat to her guests at the table. She summoned a glass of water for Hannah.

While Dani hungrily consumed her dinner, Blaise picked at his food, cutting his roast into tiny pieces and pushing them around on his plate with his fork. Hannah waited for Blaise to eat before touching her food.

Dani took notice of their strange behavior. “Eat, Blaise. It’ll get cold.” 

Blaise rested his fork against the edge of his plate and rolled his shoulders back into proper posture before speaking. “Dani.”

“Yes?”

“Hestia visited yesterday.”

Dani’s demeanor changed suddenly. She put down her fork and knife in the proper resting position on her plate and turned her full attention on her husband.

“And?”

“And,” he hesitated, “she told me that we should consider attending their shindig next Thursday. As a couple.”

Dani’s chair fell as she abruptly stood. She slammed her hands down on the table. Blaise flinched at the noise. “Absolutely not!”

“We haven’t attended a Death Eater event since last August. People are beginning to _gossip_.”

Dani pressed her lips into a tight line and looked at Blaise with her unblinking, snake-like stare. Riley righted the chair behind her mistress. Dani glanced over her shoulder at the house-elves. “Riley and Marie. Leave this room, now. We have private matters to discuss.”

Riley and Marie Disapparated out of the room in an instant. Blaise waited to speak until Dani drew her wand to lock the doors leading to the kitchen.

“She says that the younger Death Eaters claim your alliance to the Dark Lord is weakening. The reforms concerning prisoner treatment you aim to implement aren’t popular.” Blaise popped a piece of beef into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Hannah watched their interaction in awe. “She also claimed that your coworkers think that you keep me locked up here. How neutered do they think I am?”

“Blaise,” Dani growled as she pulled up her left sleeve and shoved her inflamed Dark Mark into his face, “I’m trying my best.”

“I _know_ you are.” Blaise wrapped his hand around her wrist and pressed her hand against his shoulder. “But you need assistance.”

Dani’s frustrated expression broke and she suddenly looked just as exhausted as Blaise. She swayed on her feet and sat down, defeated but still determined to protest. “You’re not going. I’ll—I’ll find a way to fix things.”

“Merlin, Dani. Forced or not, I agreed to be there for you both in sickness and in health. I may be the only Death Eater husband there is, but that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you alone with the boys to drink tea and trade high society rumors with the wives. I’ll be by your side the entire time. Hestia gave me the guest list. The only people we must impress are Theo, Draco, and Graham. I’ll put on my most asshole-like façade and make things right. If we convince them of our intentions and reestablish their trust in us, they’ll put the rest of the group at ease.”

“Draco never attends Nott’s parties. It’ll only be Astoria.”

“Then I’ll flatter Theo and Graham. Theo’s as prideful as his father and Graham’s a dumbass. I did it repeatedly in school and I can do it again.”

Dani shook her head. “They’ve changed so, so much. It’ll all be in vain. Our situation will get worse if we don’t bring Hannah.”

“Then we’ll bring Hannah.”

“ _No._ ”

“If she’s key to fixing our reputation, we’ll bring her.”

“ _Blaise,_ no.”

“Why not?”

Dani hesitated. She rubbed her Dark Mark against her top as she did so. “Because I said so.”

“Daphne—"

“Because _I said so!_ ” Dani’s pale face flushed as she raised her voice.

“Dani,” Blaise reached for Dani’s hand again and intertwined their fingers on top of the table. Dani sat as still as a statue and stared at their hands. “What do they do with the surrogates?”

Dani shook her head and trained her eyes up at the ceiling, now refusing to meet Blaise’s gaze. Hannah still sat across the table, rather dumbfounded at the scene playing out in front of her. Pansy and Marcus fought quite frequently, but never as openly as Dani and Blaise were now. It was strange to witness.

“Hannah, did you ever hear about Theodore Nott’s parties?”

Hannah shook her head. Though Marcus was marked, she knew that he and Nott didn’t get along based on how Marcus publicly bitched and complained about the man.

“Please, Dani,” Blaise pleaded, his tone becoming gentler. 

Dani took a shuddering breath and dropped her gaze down to Hannah while ignoring Blaise. Emotions passed over her face one after another while she struggled to find words to say.

“Hannah.”

“Yes?”

“Please let me beg for your forgiveness for what I’m about to say.”

“Oh, okay.” Hannah didn’t know how to respond. 

Dani turned and looked to Blaise. “Your former Slytherin ‘friends’ separate the surrogate women from the wives to molest and rape them as they see fit. Even the pregnant ones.”

Blaise went green in the face. Hannah felt her stomach drop into her toes. She wasn’t surprised at all.

“…You must be having a laugh,” Blaise stuttered.

“Why in Merlin’s left bollock would you think that?” Her tone was even and icy.

“Surely _Hestia_ wouldn’t permit such acts.”

Dani resignedly played with the wispy tips of her hair. “Hestia has no _power_ in the Nott household. What could she possibly do about it? Everything’s fair game but the clunge, duck. Theo’s rules.”

Blaise ran both hands over his hair repeatedly—Hannah connected this fidget to when he was distressed, nervous, or anxious. “Bloody fucking hell. Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Sworn to secrecy, except Theo’s dumb enough to not magically seal it. No matter. It’s an open secret now. Everyone but Stroud knows now.”

“Dani, you’re complicit in an International Confederation wartime violation.” Blaise’s breaths quickened and he spoke like he was having difficulty breathing. 

“One of many, Blaise. One of many.”

“But _this one_ —”

“Do you see _why_ I didn’t want to tell you?” Dani bit back, balling her hands up into fists. Hannah could see how Dani struggled to keep her composure with shiny eyes. “If we go to their party on Thursday, Theo will offer Angelina or some other girl and _expect_ you to use her. He’ll also expect me to offer up Hannah.”

“ _Shit._ ” Blaise looked like he was about to vomit. “When this gets out…”

“ _I’ll_ be the one to face repercussions. I refuse to involve either of you in this.”

“You could be kissed for this!”

“If Tom dies and everything gets overturned, I’m bound for life in Azkaban anyways. What’s the difference?”

“I swear, if—”

“I’ve lost my humanity, might as well lose my soul too.”

“ _Dani—"_

“I’ll go.” Hannah interrupted the ascending crescendo of emotion.

Dani looked like a Bludger struck her in the chest. Blaise all but stopped breathing.

“If my presence is needed to protect your name, I’ll do whatever is required.”

 _I won’t go back. I_ can’t _go back. I_ can’t _lose this._

Even in her altered and rather sluggish brain, the thoughts bled into each other again and again and again.

Dani and Blaise gawked at her in complete shock.

“Before this, Marcus Flint violated me every twenty-four hours and Pansy tried to take away whatever shreds of my dignity I have left. Before that, I suffered abuse at the hands of the Hogwarts peace officers and watched my friends die one by one in violence. For me, this nightmare will never end. What difference will one more evening make?”


End file.
